


Tumblr Prompt Collection

by Tenoko1



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Carnival, Cas needs APPLES, Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, Kid Fic, M/M, Most unlikely of friends, Olive branches, Outrageous Flirting, Podfic Available, Pokemon GO - Freeform, Redemption, Romance, Roommates, Trust Issues, Waltzing, Winged Dean Winchester, autumn fun, daddy!destiel, dream walking, failed attempts at baking, hand holding, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 38,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of prompt fills from Tumblr. The prompts vary wildly from pure fluff, to lols, angst, episode related stories, each new prompt added as a new chapter. There are also podfic versions available.</p><p> </p><p>    Prompt from Anon: "Let's suspend disbelief and being analytical for a bit, but, if 11x23 would have ended the way they all planned with Dean's bomb going off... If it were up to you.. How would you write 12x01?"</p><p>    With darkness and fear and the desperate desire to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #1 Vain For You

            It took Dean a minute to realize that while he’d been brushing his teeth at one of the sinks lining the wall in the bathroom, Cas remained immobilized in front of the full-length mirror. Patting at his mouth with a towel, Dean glanced at him and curiosity morphed into concern at the dark look Castiel was giving his reflection, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled down at the corners.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked, standing with one hip against the last sink. He cast a glance around for the clean shirt he'd brought to change into after his shower, but it wasn't where he recalled putting it during his bleary morning shuffle. When Cas didn't answer after a moment too long, Dean returned his attention to him, brows drawing together.

            “You’re a good cook,” Cas said, making Dean blink in surprise.

            “Uh... thanks?”

            Cas inhaled deeply and it came out as an audible sigh of defeat. “Everything you cook is good." He swept his gaze to where Dean regarded him, frowning and head angled. "Acclimating to being human has been easier than I expected this time. Your cooking has been incentive to remember to eat regularly.”

            Lost, Dean scratched the back of his head and gestured toward the wall. “Then why are you glaring at the mirror like you want to smite it?”

            Cas gave his reflection a baleful stare. “I’ve gained weight.”

            Dean didn’t mean to snort a laugh- he really didn’t- instantly sobering when Cas turned that same glare on him. The hunter held up his hands. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

            The angel looked down at himself, a hand coming up to rest on his stomach before he regarded the planes of Dean’s chest and stomach. It made butterflies curl in his belly and heat rise to his face. Where had he put his shirt? Did he throw it in the dirty clothes with the rest?

            “You’re body is much more toned than my own.”

            Huffing another laugh, Dean rubbing his jaw and tried to force down the twisting self-consciousness. “Well, I mean, Jimmy was a jogger right? He was fit that way. You look fine.” A memory of Cas in only a towel flickered through his mind forcing his skin to prick with a fresh blush deeper than the first. “You’re pretty fit. But, I mean, me and Sam workout daily- Sam more than me. If you’re worried about what you look like, you can start working out with us. Go jogging with Sam or whatever. And we go on hunts more than you, whereas you’ve stuck close to home since you moved in.” Dean let his gaze rake over the former angel. “I think you’re worrying too much. I can’t see a difference.”

            Cas regarded his reflection again, hand falling back to his side. “This is my body now and I want it to be found attractive and appealing.”

            There would be no end to Dean's blushing this morning it seemed. He opened his mouth. Closed it. How the hell was he suppose to respond to that? What was a clinical, platonic way of saying Cas was attractive? Cas was _gorgeous_. He deflected, laughing lightly and ignoring the sour turn of his stomach at the idea of Cas seeking romantic entanglements.

            “Decided to try for the whole romance thing now that you’re human?” He scrubbed at his hair, averting his eyes. "Good for you."

            “Being human will finally give me chance to, yes. It wouldn't have worked before.” He glanced back at Dean. “ Or maybe it would have, but then they would possibly be unduly burdened by guilt when I gave up my grace to be with them instead. This way, the obvious choice didn't have to be made. And I _want_ to be attractive- to them and for them, so that attention I garner would fill them with pride rather than shame.”

            Brows knitting, Dean started in offense. “Okay, first off: whoever loves you is gonna love you no matter what you look like. Looks fade. Humans get older. We get scars. Life and crap happens. Weight gain, weight loss, broken bones, hell, eventually facial lines and gray hair. Whoever loves you- _really_ loves you- is gonna love you regardless, and if you ever tell Sam I said this, I will call you a liar until the day I die, understood?”

            Chuckling, Cas gave a solemn nod and grabbed his toiletry bag, turning to leave. Dean held the door open for him, eyeing the other man with a masochistic sense of curiosity. He wanted to know who had caught the angel’s eye that suddenly made him conscious of his appearance. He tried to remember the women they had met or saw regularly. Which of them would be Cas’ type? Though the angel caught attention from both men and women, Dean had only ever seen Cas show interest in female partners, what with Meg, which he didn’t want to think about, and then free love Cas of the apocalypse. Who was it this time?

            Nodding his thanks, Cas stepped out into the hall and headed toward his room.

            The self-punishing part of Dean wouldn’t be denied. “Hey,” he called, and the angel glanced back without stopping, “whose attention are you wanting anyway?”

            Cas gave him an impish smile. “Yours.”

 

END


	2. #2 To See you Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks he's safe to casually flirt with Cas without the socially inept angel realizing he's actually flirting. Then Cas calls him out on it and Dean might have a minor moment of complete and utter panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt fill. Got an Ask over on Tumblr for I'd love to see Dean casually flirting with Cas, thinking the angel won't realise that he actually has a huge gay love for him, but Cas is smarter and more observant than he'd anticipated and he calls Dean out on it quickly :) Basically Dean shitting his pants cause his crush might become aware of his feelings before he can really make sense of them~".  
> And yes, you can leave fic prompts for me in my Ask box on tumblr. Tenoko1

             It was a small thing, this new impulse, not a big deal, just a quirk Dean had developed since Cas became human and moved into the Batcave with them.

            He liked to touch Cas. To have that physical reminder that, yes, Cas was really alive and there, and when the shit hit the fan, for once, they had all survived. That despite Cas’ original plans to leave and return to Heaven to make up for his past mistakes, he had somehow ended up being able to remain by Dean’s side.

            It was almost compulsive, really. He couldn't be faulted for that. He’d barely touch the angel’s back as he moved past him between rows of bookcases in the library, a light enough touch it could be excused as just letting the other man know, ‘hey, don’t back up and don’t startle, I’m right here’ as he slid by.

            He would nudge him when it was their turn to wash dishes, elbow gently prodding to gain angel’s attention. When Cas looked up, Dean would grin and flick suds at him, then laugh at the other man’s startled expression, blue eyes nearly crossing to look at the white bubbles on his nose.

            When they began training Cas in gun control, Dean found himself often grinning and giving the angel’s back a clap, fingers squeezing his shoulder before unwillingly letting his hand fall away.

            Sometimes Castiel just looked at him in confusion, blue eyes considering Dean like he was a puzzle the former angel was trying to flesh out. Other times, they’d share a secret smile, the faintest of smirks pulling at the side of Cas’ mouth.

            He’d never admit it except in the privacy of his own head, but every time Cas smiled, Dean’s chest tightened in absolute affection. Maybe it was because his friend didn’t do it often, but nothing made Dean’s day better than being able to make the other man smile. It warmed him from the inside out to see it.

            Sometimes just an innocent touch was impossibly hard to keep innocent. It was a struggle for Dean to keep his distance, to remain platonic, when everything about the angel seemed to draw him in, made him want to push a little bit further and see how the angel would react, how he would be received with touches that lingered too long, if he intentionally invaded the angel’s personal space, if he made what he was thinking known without saying it.

            He didn’t, of course, for countless reasons. God, there were so many. There always had been. Endless, _valid_ reasons why he couldn’t act on the… _whatever_ that was between them.

            Or maybe it was something that had once been between them and wasn’t any longer, because Cas never attempted to act on it, either, perhaps didn’t feel whatever it was Dean felt and was completely unwilling to put a name to.

            It was there for Dean though, and it wasn’t going away, any time soon or ever.

            Maybe he was making excuses, and that was why he wasn't coming right out and addressing the pull, the spark. He couldn't just say, ‘Hey, I want more than what we have now, and it’s new and it’s scary, but I could love you forever’.

            Not that he was saying he _loved_ Castiel in anything other than a familial, platonic way. He wasn’t. They were friends and Cas had been through too much recently for Dean to do something as selfish as thrusting his own wants and desires on a man who’s whole world had been tipped on it’s ear recently. He'd made the decision perhaps unconsciously, that if Cas were to be returned to them safe and whole, no matter what Dean would be the best friend anyone could ever ask for.

            And he contented himself with the not entirely necessary touching and fond teasing. It occasionally earned him a pointed look from Sam. A look that said ‘I know exactly what you are up to and you aren’t fooling anyone, so knock it off already’, except Sam _clearly_ lived in a fantasy land, because there was nothing going on for Sam to see through. Nothing at all.

            Okay, so _maybe_ his words or actions could _possibly_ seen as flirtatious, not that he was saying they were, because he wasn’t, but they might could be seen that way. It didn’t mean anything. And it was his teasing that more often than not coaxed a shadow of a smile from Cas and chased the haunted look from his eyes, and neither Dean or Sam were putting a stop to anything that could do that.

            The problem became that it was far too easy to be comfortable around Cas, to lean into him and whisper a joke, to bump shoulders as they worked side-by-side, to reach across the space between them and make contact, to tease him in a way that might be misconstrued as flirting, which he most definitely was _not_ doing.

            “We will need to get past the receptionist and into the room where they store their records and other files,” Cas stated, looking at a blueprint of the building they were planning to infiltrate the next day. He frowned and pulled a file closer to him on the table while Dean continued replacing books they had pulled out for research. “It would be easier if we could just break in at night.”

            “Except their security and night watchman makes that impossible,” pointed out Dean, shelving another book before grinning at Cas. “It’s your job to keep the receptionist distracted while Sam and I sneak past.”

            The brunette looked at him, twisting around in his chair. “I do not understand why I am the distraction. Your people skills are much better than mine.”

            Dean winked- in a _strictly platonic_ manner. “Ah, but that’s why you’re on this team, Cas, you balance us out: you’re pretty face and ridiculous blue eyes to my brawn and Sam’s brain. Just flash her that smile of yours and she’ll be completely incapable of noticing anything else in the world,” he said grinning and putting another book away.

            The other man’s eyes narrowed on him, before a slow smile made it’s way onto his features, smug and teasing in one. “Dean Winchester,” he drawled, sounding fond and amused, making the hunter look at him in question. “Are you _flirting_ with me?”

            A deep blush blossomed on the other man’s face and he scoffed, “What? _No_!” He looked quickly away, absorbed with making sure the books were correctly alphabetized. What comes after ‘e’? Oh, right. ‘F’ for ‘fucked’. “That would be-“

            “Perfectly acceptable,” Cas stated from right by his elbow, making Dean jump in surprise and whirl around, back hitting the bookcase hard. The angel had his head angled to the side, eyes studying Dean’s features while the hunter’s heart slammed painfully against his ribcage. “I do not understand why this between us is the one thing you decide to dance around rather than being straight forward about, as if there is any outcome possible other than the obvious.”

            Dean could barely hear him over the mantra of panic in his own head. “This between us?” he echoed, light-headed with panic and the need to escape because there was no way this could end well, and he would still have to live with Cas when his carelessness blew up in his face. “What obvious outcome?”

            Cas didn't answer verbally, but reached one hand up, curling it around the back of Dean’s neck as he stepped closer, almost right up against Dean, and pulled the hunter in for a kiss, just a simple press of their mouths together. Distantly, Dean heard the book he’d still been holding hit the ground. Cas pulled away just a fraction, gaze flicking over Dean’s face as the hunter stared at him with wide, shocked eyes.

            Then with an almost pained groan, Dean surged forward, crushing their mouths together again, kissing Cas with everything he had, and getting just as much enthusiasm in return, Castiel gripping the front of Dean’s shirt while the hunter snaked his arms around the shorter man’s waist and pulled him flush up against him, earning a sound from Cas that did so many things to Dean, things he doesn’t act on, happy to just make out with Cas in the stacks like teenagers and revel in the impossibility of it, to have everything he never thought he could have, right there in his arms.

            Sam came in at one point, completely unnoticed, did a double-take when he saw them, and had quickly pivoted and fled the room, grabbing Kevin by the elbow before the prophet could go into the library.

            “Let’s go read in the kitchen. Change of scenery,” he insisted.

            “But we just came from the kitchen,” protested the younger man.

            Sam just dragged him along behind him while the pair in the library remained blissfully unaware, hidden amongst the books and kissing, completely and utterly lost in their own world.

 

END

 


	3. #3 That's What Friends Are For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides the best way to reach out to Cas in his new life as a human is by saving him from Dean's bad tastes in media entertainment. If Cas is to be educated in pop-culture, well, anything is better than Doctor Sexy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done as a prompt fill for "Hey! So~ as you are looking for prompts... how about some Cas/Sam bonding time, preferably with Dean looking on fondly? Maybe geeking out over the books & stuff at the batcave, or taking on a (training) case, just the two of them? Having a beer together? Looking for fallen angels? Bonus points for not!awkward!Cas and not!jealous!Dean. (Whether or not it's Destiel (or Sastiel, or Wincest, or Wincestiel idec) is up to you :D)"

            It had been about a week since the angels had fallen and Cas had come to live with them. The hunter community was in a frenzy trying to take in all the fallen angels, Garth barking orders in a way that would have made Bobby proud. Meanwhile, the Batcave was as active, Dean, Sam, Kevin, and Charlie all setting up shop in the library and using their sway and connections to help in the process, and to figure out where the current situation left them, what with Heaven empty of angels and the gates to Hell still wide open.

            For his part, Cas was… quiet, and everyone pretty much left him to his own devices, save for Dean and Charlie who were so much alike it was scary. They were the ones who would seek the angel out and force him to participate in some activity or other, whether training or research or ‘hey, it’s your turn to help with the dishes’. More often than not, both Cas and Dean could be found watching the sunrise together, Dean bringing the angel a cup of coffee as an excuse to not let the angel be left alone with his own thoughts for two long, even while neither one of them spoke.

            Though he wanted to help Cas, Sam also didn’t know how. They had never had the easy relationship Dean and Cas had, in fact, it seemed more often than not they kept finding themselves on opposing sides of the current conflict. He knew they were friends, but at the same time it was like there was a chasm between them and Sam had no idea how to fix it. It shouldn't just be Dean that was there for their friend during the worst times in his life.

            Plopping down in the armchair near Cas, Sam flashed him a smile when the other man looked up in question. “Hi,” he greeted, feeling oddly nervous and wiping sweaty palms on his jeans.

            Cas’ brow furrowed for a moment. “Hello,” he said, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

            Biting his cheek, Sam bobbed his head a moment, glancing around at the other occupants in the room, each absorbed in their work. Cas watched him in confusion, then shrugged and returned to looking over Kevin’s notes on the tablets.

            Clapping his hands, Sam pushed to his feet again, reaching over to pluck the notes from the angel’s hand and setting them aside. He pulled the other man to his feet.

            “C’mon. The task of your education in pop-culture falls to me as Dean will have you watching truly terrible films and shows that will make you weep for humanity, and I really don’t want you to think we’re that much of a lost cause.” He was pulling an utterly confused Cas along by his elbow while Dean looked up in indignation.

            “Hey!”

            Sam didn't slow in leading their friend from the room, just pointed at his brother. “Dude. Two words: Doctor. Sexy. You officially lose all voting privileges. You can teach him to cook or something, but we are not rotting his brain with your bad life choices in visual media.”

            “I have excellent tastes!” his brother yelled after them.

            “Cartoon porn, Dean, that’s all I’m saying!” Sam shouted back. It earned a chuckle from Cas and Sam grinned at him, hand falling away as they continued down the corridors to the rec room.

            The former angel cast his gaze around, eyeing the couch. “Shouldn’t we be focused on repairing the current situation and trying to find some alternative method of closing the gates of Hell?”

            Sam moved over to their shelf of DVDs, running his index finger back and forth across the spines trying to select one. “While, yes, in theory that is probably the right thing to do, it is not the best thing to do. Humans need downtime, to step back from the whirlwind that is their life, and have a period where they aren’t having to worry about something. Stress kills, Cas.” He grabbed the Star Trek reboot movie. “And if Dean and I always waited for an appropriate time to get in some R&R, we’d never get any, and would have been dead a long time ago just from the stress. It’s a mental health thing that affects your physical health.”

            The angel was already seated on one end of the couch when Sam got the movie set up and took a seat opposite him.

            Cas frowned at the television screen. “It seems… counterproductive. Humans are so complicated. You need sleep, so much of it, and you need ‘downtime’ on top of sleep, or else your bodies turn against you, but if you do all this, all the work you are neglecting only adds to the stress you feel.”

            Sam met his gaze and shrugged, motioning towards the door. “That’s why you get friends to help you out, because one person can only be expected to accomplish so much.” He pointed at the other man. “All the heroes in our world only achieved great things through the support of those that cared about them.”

            A bemused smirk tugged at the corner of Cas’ mouth at that, his brow arching in question. “Oh?”

            Sam nodded sagely. “Harry Potter would be dead without Hermione. Totally. Sherlock Holmes had John Watson. The Doctor had all his companions. And if it were James Kirk by himself, no one would care, but it’s when it’s Spock and Kirk together as a team that they do the impossible.” He frowned and shook his head. “Kirk’s the main character, but like no one actually likes him on his own merit, it’s the two of them together and that they make each other better people that is so great.”

            The angel’s amused expression had faded slightly as he genuinely considered this. “Yes, I can see why humans would find this inspiring, their desire for just such a relationship in their own life, for a friend to be there with them at their lowest, and to pull them in check when they would make choices they would later regret.” His gaze was distant as he regarded the previews on the TV screen. “Such a friendship must be nearly impossible to find though.”

            Sam blinked, looking at him sharply. The angel actually looked dejected. He swatted at the other man’s arm with the back of his hand, earning a look of surprise while the taller man chuckled.

            “Impossible? Dude. First person you met on earth became that kind of friend for you, and Dean would probably die before admitting this, but as much as he hates that you lost your grace and that all of your siblings are in this mess, if it means he doesn’t lose you? He’s willing to accept all the crazy as the price for keeping you with _this_ family. You and he _are_ the impossible relationship other people only dream about.” A fond smile crossed over Cas’ features and Sam grinned at him. “And despite my brother being awesome in many areas, none of which will I admit to, I am sparing you much pain by seeing to your pop-culture education myself,” he said, holding out the remote and starting the movie.

            The angel chuckled and settled into his seat. “Well then thank you for saving me from cruel and unjust punishment.”

            Sam side-eyed him. “What’s _worse_? After a few episodes of _Doctor Sexy_? You start to _like_ it. Despite how ridiculous it is.” He waved a hand and whistled. “You are dodging a bullet, Cas. You have no idea.”

            They shared another grin before regarding the film.

 

On another such evening, Dean found himself searching the apparently abandoned Batcave until he got the rec room, finding Sam, Cas, Charlie, and Kevin all piled together on the couch watching…

            He frowned. “Is that _My Little Pony_?”

            Sam held up a finger. “Animated and yet infinitely better than _Doctor Sexy_ , so not a word, Dean.”

            “Where the _hell_ did we get _My Little Pony_?”

            Charlie and Kevin fist bumped. “Bronies for life~!”

            “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

            Turning his head, Cas regarded the hunter who was looking at them like they had all parted with their sanity. “Yet, I still feel in safer hands allowing them to educate me in pop-culture rather than you, Dean.”

            Rather than be offended, Dean barked a laughed while Sam nudged the angel and they grinned conspiratorially at each other, the elder Winchester smiling fondly at them both. Charlie patted the arm of the couch.

            “Have a seat, Dean. You can watch to see if Rainbow Dash can do a successful Sonic Rainbow.”

            Eyeing the members of his family, then the TV, Dean chuckled and took a seat. Sam stretched out an arm to offer him some popcorn from the bowl he and Cas had been sharing as the five of them watched the brightly colored ponies on the screen.

 

 

END


	4. #4 Fake It Til You Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs a little help flirting his way through a case, luckily Charlie's there to return the favor and walk him through it. "Pretend he's Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done for a prompt that wanted a reverse of the episode where Dean had to walk Charlie through flirting. This was actually really hard, because Dean is Dean. He can charm anyone and would have no problem coming off as possibly flirting with a guy if that would get him information. So I had to give him a reason for this particular situation freaking him out, to his surprise and the surprise of his friends, so I could fill the prompt.  
> Warning: References to past sexual harassment of a character as a minor.

 

            It was a good thing only the front of the private gym was glass, because Dean visibly doubled over and having a panic attack would not have been good. As it was, he was ducked around the corner, hidden from anyone inside and trying very hard to get his breathing back to normal. He was failing rather spectacularly.

            He had his phone out and dialed, pocketing it as soon as his ear piece started ringing.

            Sam picked up. “Hello?”

            “I can’t do this,” Dean blurted out. Sam immediately started laughing, the jerk. “Sam, this isn’t funny. I seriously cannot go in there and-and-” He swallowed thickly, remembering the rainbow sign above the door, the clear ‘members only’ lettering on the glass under the gym name. “I cannot go in there and pretend I am gay in order to get a gym membership we only need for a couple of days.”

           Sam’s was still laughing at him, despite the rising hysteria in Dean’s voice, all the while it was getting harder to breath and all Dean could think of was being years younger and getting sized up by men entirely too old to be looking at him like that, reminded him of unwanted gropes by strangers, and offers that had been more terrifying than appealing. The idea of what they expected him to pretend was bringing up every time he’d ever felt utterly vulnerable and out of his element, young and threatened by unwanted advances, and Sam laughing at him was not helping.

           “Sam!” he hissed into the phone, and that was what made his brother realize that something was actually wrong.

           “Oh shit, Dean, you’re being serious.” His voice was instantly soothing. “Look, man, calm down. I thought you said you could handle this.”

           “You and Cas were still researching what the victims have in common and what could have caused those injuries,” he wheezed, doubled over and taking in long breathes through his nose and exhaling through his mouth like Sam always told him.

           He could hear muffled movement on the other end, and imagined Sam holding the phone between his head and shoulder. “Dude, I do not understand why you are panicking like this.” And Dean would die before Sam ever found out as well; he’d made doubly sure no one ever dared look at his little brother the way he had been. “It’s a job, Dean. Lie your way through like always. You flirted with that security guard-”

           He straightened, leaning back against the building “I was walking _Charlie_ through how to flirt as a _girl_ with a _guy_. I cannot go in there and just start flirting with some random guy-“

           More muffled movement and voices and then suddenly it’s Charlie’s voice in his ear. “Dean? Charlie.”

           “Oh thank God,” he sighed. “Don’t laugh. Get away from Sam, he’ll only laugh at me and I don’t need that right now.”

           “Don’t worry. I’ve left him and Kevin in the library. I’m headed towards my room. What’s the problem?”

           He shook his head as though she could see the movement. “I can’t go in there are pretend to be gay, no offense, Charlie, but I can’t just- I mean, what do I do if the guy hits on me? Sam and I have never even joined a gym before. I need information, everything in me wants to flirt with the girl at the counter and use intimidation with the guy.”

           “That is so not gonna work,” she said, voice changing as she put him on speaker phone. He could hear her fingers on the keys of her laptop. “Look, Dean, I don’t know what your childhood trauma is-“

           “What? I never said-“

           “Dean,” she interjected, firm but not angry. “You are not a homophobic ass, so you panicking is not that. You are freaking out from something else you are relating this to, and the fact that you don’t know what to do if he hits on you, while everything wants to be aggressive in self defense, tells me it’s a childhood trauma.” Her voice turned gentle, “They’re just people, Dean, every day people. It’s a business; they want your business. They will be friendly, possibly charming, it’s good customer service, not a threat. Be friendly and charming right back. You are new to the area, don’t know anybody, looking to get plugged into the community and make friends.”

           His breathing had returned to normal and he was nodding, her voice reassuring and calming. Good customer service wanting his business. New in town. That was easy.

           “Ask for Michael, he’s the owner and manager. He’s about your age, looks like a fitness trainer on TV, dark hair and nice smile. One of your neighbors down the street directed you to this gym, said Mike could tell you everything the gym had to offer and local athletic fundraisers and benefits. Be _nice_ , _you_ want information, _he_ has it.”

           He nodded again, pausing in rounding the building to go inside. “What do I do if he or someone else does hit on me or asks about my… partner or boyfriend or whatever?”

           “If he hits on you, subtly bring up your boyfriend, or your girlfriend if you want to tell him you’re bi, but dating a guy will just be easier. Or flirt back, pretending he’s Cas if you can’t flirt with him on his own merit.”

           “How would pretending he’s Cas make it easier to flirt with him?” he demanded.

           She scoffed. “Dean. You flirt with Cas _all the_ _time_. You are so heads over for him that it’s not even funny, just completely adorable! Poor fallen angel is probably all confused because of it.”

           “Why is that?” he asked warily, heart hammering against his ribs for a new reason.

           “Because you shamelessly flirt and tease him, leaving him flustered and flushed, and then you never follow through on it, so he probably thinks he’s just imagining it, rather than it being something you are actually doing, which you totally are. The two of you have no personal space. And you touch him, all the time, like he’ll vanish if you don’t. You _flirt_ with Cas, so if it makes it easier to grease the wheels with a little harmless flirting, pretend the guy is Cas.”

           He snorted as he rounded the building and slipped into the welcoming air-conditioned interior. The guy behind the counter had to be Michael, both he and the young girl looked up and smiled at Dean’s entrance.

           “How are you today?” questioned Mike in greeting, and the girl went back to filling out forms of some such, brows pinched as she scribbled in boxes.

           “Good,” answered Dean, head bobbing as he let his gaze do a quick sweep of the mostly unoccupied gym. “I, uh, just moved to town. Some neighbors directed me here when I mentioned looking for a gym. Said to ask for Mike?” he said, letting the last part come out as a question as his gaze returned to the man on the other side of the counter and then down to his name tag.

           The other man’s smile broadened, and wow, yeah, Charlie was right, he totally looked like TV trainer. “That would be me,” he affirmed, offering his hand for Dean to shake. Dean took the proffered hand while Charlie murmured assurances in his ear. “Mike Turner.”

           “Dean Winchester,” he greeted, internally wincing as he gave his real name. Charlie was soothing him immediately, fingers flying over the keys of her laptop, softly assuring him she could feed him another Winchester’s information to put on the membership forms.

           Hand falling away, Michael loosely crossed his arms over his chest. “So what exactly are you looking for in a gym? We don’t have classes here, but we do offer fitness training and advice if you’d like, we always have a fitness trainer on hand during regular business hours.”

           “Ask him for a tour of the facilities,” Charlie prompted.

           Dean made a circle in the air with his finger. “Can I get a walk-through? Sort of get a feel for the place?”

           The other man immediately nodded, stepping out from around the counter and motioning for Dean. The hunter fell into step with him as Mike walked them through the gym, pointing out the different equipment and what it focused on, the newest machines they had gotten, ones they were going to replace with newer models. Dean asked questions and nodded in all the right places. Mike led him into the locker room, and pointed him toward the shower stalls, changing rooms, and toilets, told him they recommend people bring their own locks for the lockers and other various information.

           As they were making their way back up to the front, Mike asked, “So what kind of membership are you looking for? We have several packages-“

           “My boyfriend and I don’t always keep the same workout schedules,” Charlie said in his ear, and Dean parroted it back, “so we would need two cards to come in at different times. Do we have to get two memberships or do you have a couple’s package?”

           Mike nodded. “We do. We also have a family package as well, if you’d like to have up to four people signed up.”

           Blinking with a start, Dean frowned. “Up to _four_? Where are we gonna get two other people?”

           The other man chuckled and waggled his head back and forth. “Well, if either of you have children over the age of fourteen, housemates also use it, or if you have a workout partner, or a sibling-“

           Dean scoffed and waved him off. “Sam can get his own membership.” Both Mike and Charlie laughed, and Dean grinned.

           “You would not be the first to feel that way. You said you and your boyfriend don’t always keep the same schedule?” Dean nodded, and Mike gestured toward the glass doors. “Well, we’re open twenty-four, seven, but for safety reasons, after ten the door locks and you have to have your key card to get in, someone will be here, of course, but not just anyone is allowed in. What do you and, uh…” He gestured towards Dean, wanting a name.

           “Cas,” Dean said automatically, and nearly winced. “My boyfriend’s name is Cas.”

           God, he was so glad Sam wasn’t on the phone with him anymore because he probably would hurt himself laughing at Dean, meanwhile the elder Winchester could feel his face heating in embarrassment at the statement. Cas would probably just roll with the lie had he been there. He’d gotten pretty good at improv.

           Mike nodded, head angling curiously. “If you don’t mind my asking, what do you and Cas do that brought you here and keeps you on different schedules?”

           “Work,” Dean told him. “Work brought us here and keeps us on crazy schedules. I restore cars, mostly classics…” He licked his lip, and then smiled. “Cas is retired military. He does a lot of research work now, really ought to publish books with all the stuff he knows.”

           Mike’s brows shot up. “Impressive.”

           The smile on his face turned fond, thinking of his friend. “Yeah, he is.” He huffed an embarrassed laugh and scratched the back of his neck. “He’s kind of perfect. I have no idea why puts up with me, and don’t have a clue what I’d do without him.”

           Charlie chuckled in his ear. “Look at you gushing your love for the man to a complete stranger. You’re embarrassing me, Dean. Ask him about the recent incident. One of the other neighbors said there was just some trouble and someone got hurt.”

           Dean asked, questioning Mike about the crime in the area or any hostility towards the LGBT community or the gym specifically.

           The gym owner assured him they had had no such problems, that it was a quiet community, and everyone got along.

           “Ask him if there’s an app to track how often you log into the gym for fitness purposes, and if it can be used by all the people on your membership,” Charlie instructed, and Dean stayed silent, nodding along as Mike told him about a marathon the gym was going to take part in to raise money for the local children’s hospital, with the suggestion that Dean and Cas might like to join up in order to meet people and help the cause. Dean smirked as Charlie scoffed. “What am I talking about? I can just hack their systems and cross-reference all the members comings and goings. Forget I said anything. Don’t ask him that.”

           They talked for a few more minutes before Dean officially signed up for the gym, Charlie giving him a fake social security number and bank account easily. Apparently she set up fake identities for them using their _real_ identities given that they all had a permanent address now.

           “You know,” she began conversationally; “you really ought to ask Cas out on a date.” He snorted lightly. “I’m serious. He’d say ‘yes’. It wouldn’t have to be a date-date, just you and him getting time alone. You make time to do stuff with Sam, and with me, and even check in on Kevin, but you never pull Cas aside and say, ‘Hey, let’s go get coffee, or go to my room, I have lube.’”

           Dean coughed loudly, fighting the urge to glance around to see if anyone over heard that, before glaring at his paperwork again and clenching his teeth. She would bring the subject up when he couldn’t actually snap back at her.

           She cackled in delight in his ear. “Oh I’m just teasing, though I still think he’d be game for that last one as well, well, not on the first date. Actually _date_ _him_ a while before you go there. He matters more than your previous relationships.”

           Dean gave a hum of agreement, and could practically see her grinning.

           “What would you do without me, Dean? You’d combust is what you’d do. I’m the sister you come to with all these things you can’t talk to Sam about.”

           He made another sound of agreement.

           “Seriously, though. Ask Cas out, just go do… normal stuff, rather than letting his every earthly experience be about hunting. Take him for coffee, people watch at the park, go see a movie, go shopping at the local farmer’s market for groceries together. You don’t have to call it a date unless he specifically asks, then give him the option for it to be a date or not. Guy’s in love with you, too, which you have _clearly_ failed to pick up on.”

           Finished with the paperwork, Dean shook hands with Mike, grinning and accepting the two key cards, before heading out to the parking lot.

           “Y’know,” he told Charlie, glancing once over his shoulder at the gym, “we actually could just maintain these memberships. I mean, we live fifteen minutes away and it would give us an excuse to get out of the bunker for a while, give us a break when we aren’t on cases.”

           “We’d need more than the couple’s membership. We’d have to upgrade to the family one,” Charlie pointed out. “It should be fine so long as we don’t all plan to go to the gym at the same time, and Sam seems to prefer running outside unless it’s flat out raining. I think Kevin is allergic to anything more athletic than track.”

           Cranking the car, Dean let it idle a moment, gaze focused on the distance. “Hey, Charlie?”

           “Yeah?”

           “Thanks.”

           He heard her smile again. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

 

 

The next morning, he watched as Cas made his way into the kitchen, greeting the other occupants of the Batcave before heading toward the coffee pot. Dean caught him before he got there, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

           “C’mon, Cas, you and I are going out for coffee.” The former angel blinked, surprised, and frowned. Dean swallowed, casting only the briefest of glances over Cas’ shoulder at Charlie who was giving him a double-thumbs up and a wink. He looked back at Cas, ignoring the confusion on his brother’s face. Kevin was too busy trying not to fall asleep in his breakfast to notice the rest of them. “You want to?”

           After a moment’s consideration, Cas inclined his head and smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”

           Dean grinned. “Awesome.”

 

 

END

 


	5. #5 Listen to the Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Cas going through a hard time, Dean sees a way he might can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was for Dean pampering Cas, Sam, and Kevin in their own individual ways and for them to return the favor and pamper him in return. “Pamper” isn’t the word I would have gone with, and I didn’t fill the prompt exactly, but I hope you enjoy Dean doing for those he cares about.
> 
> AN: I did another musical fic. WTH?! I promised I wouldn’t after My Life Is A Movie. What kind of masochist am I?!?! *headdesk* Well, at least this music is just in the background and no one is cursed.

            Whistling as he made his way through the base from his room, Dean faltered as he passed Cas’ open door. Standing in the doorway, he regarded the scene before him, brows furrowed and arms crossing over his chest.

            Cas was laying on his bed, fingers interlaced on his chest as he stared at the ceiling. What gave Dean pause was the music coming through the speakers of the of the iPod dock, the female vocalist’s singing upbeat and cheerful, but frustrated.

 

_Sometimes I hate every single_

_Stupid word you say_

_Sometimes I wanna slap you_

_And your whole face_

_Woah oh oh_

_There’s no one quite like you_

_You push all my buttons down_

_I know life would suck without you_

 

Clicking his tongue, Dean gestured idly to the device he was pretty sure was Charlie’s, while Cas only  slid his gaze to glance in Dean’s direction before regarding the ceiling again.

“Dude,” Dean started. “The hell are you listening to?”

 

_At the same time_

_I wanna hug you_

_I wanna wrap my hands around your neck_

_You’re an asshole_

_But I love you_

_And you make me so mad I ask myself_

_Why I’m still here_

_And where could I go?_

_You’re the only love I’ve ever known_

 

Those blue eyes, filled with irritation, slid over to regard Dean again, Cas’ whole head rolling into the look he now cast at Dean.

“She speaks to me.”

“Are you serious?”

He regarded the ceiling again. “I can appreciate her frustration and anger.”

 

_But I hate you_

_I really hate you_

_So much I think it must be_

_True Love_

_True Love_

_It must be_

_True Love_

_Nothing else can break my heart like_

_True Love_

_True Love_

_No one else can break my heart like you_

_Oh oh oh oh oh_

 

Dean stared at the device dubiously, brow arching higher as the woman continued to sing, then turned his head to look at the former angel again.

“Yeah, but-“

Cas’ eyes closed. “My room, my music, Dean. You know where the door is if you don’t like it.”

The angel had gotten a lot sassier since he’d become human, snapping in irritation when his patience frayed. He was less tolerant as a human, and rightfully going through mood swings as he tried to cope with everything that had been dumped on him or violently stripped away. This was, after all, his first time fully experiencing his own emotions, and it was like having to relearn them all over again. He was having to learn everything about being human, which included having a taste in music.

            Lifting his chin, Dean smiled. “Well, I’m glad you found something you like, Cas.” He paused, looking at the ipod dock. Charlie would head back home in the morning and more than likely end up taking it back with her, leaving Cas with the record players and albums around the base. Green eyes sliding back over to the newest resident of the house, Dean hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I’m about to head out and run some errands. I don’t suppose you need anything while I’m out, do you?” he asked, jingling the keys to his baby.

            Castiel’s perception of wants and needs was another thing that set him apart. He had the bare bones that met his needs, and didn’t think about indulgent wants. Cas made due with what he had and was content, a soldier, so that when he shook his head in response, Dean hadn’t expected anything else.

 

            Dean’s first stop was to the used music store in town, tiny and cramped, with posters and novelty items throughout on display. The bell jingled at his entrance, causing the sleepy-eyed clerk to look up in greeting.

            “Hi. Can I help you find something today?”

            Opening his mouth to automatically brush off the offer, Dean paused and pointed at him. “Actually, you can,” he said, approaching the counter, which seemed to catch the clerk off guard as well. “I have a friend that has developed an appreciation for female singers, or maybe there are singers of both genders, I dunno, I’m a classic rock fan, anyway but singers that, like...” His gaze cast about as he tried to find the words he needed. “Dude, ‘angry chick music’ is all I can think to call it,” he looked up sharply. “Not the yelling incoherently kind, though he may like some yelling. Do you have any artists that basically use their music as their own form of therapy to help them, I dunno, _deal_?”

“Are we wanting emo music here or-“

Dean held up a hand. “God, no. If that were the case, I’d just loan him Sam’s music and there’s already enough of that in the house. No, like I said, angry and frustrated would be best. That’s the bulk of what he’s working through at the moment, I think.” He cast his gaze about. “Also, maybe some classical and a church music cd, though he might throw it at my head.”

Making a knowing sound as he came around the counter, the clerk motioned for Dean to follow him. “Lost his religion, huh?”

“Way more complicated than that, but yeah.” He looked around again. “And do you sell used cd players?”

He called Charlie while he was out shopping, making sure he could get a copy of whatever CD Cas had been listening to on her iPod, so he could listen to it once she left. He was happy to see he had the rest of the artist’s albums already in his hands.

“I’ve got a spare mp3 player he can have, too,” Charlie said. “So he can listen in the safety of his own head when he wants. I can even make him some playlists and mix cds.  I’ll have it all set up by the time you get back.”

Dean made another stop before home, and was pleased with how seamlessly Charlie moved herself over into Cas’ space, blocking Dean and his purchases from sight as he moved through and to the corridor of rooms.

Removing Charlie’s dock, he replaced it with the small silver cd player and stand for his small collection of music. Darting across the hall, he returned Charlie her things and got the items she’d put together for Cas. For extra flare, he went ahead and put in a mix cd and put it on repeat so that it would be waiting whenever the angel made it back to his room. He set the mp3 player by the cd player on Cas’ chest of drawers, before removing the final item from the bag and placing the bag of foil-wrapped chocolate against Cas’ pillow.

Balling up the plastic bag and tossing it in the trash, Dean stood a moment, hands on his hips as he regarded his handiwork, before pivoting sharply to go start on dinner for this motley household, since it was his turn to cook.

He froze at the sight of Castiel standing in the doorway, regarding Dean and the room with a puzzled expression.

“You aren’t suppose to be here,” Dean blurted, and then immediately wanted to kick himself.

He was gonna be cool about this, smooth, no big deal. If Cas thought he was making a big deal, the angel might get offended thinking they were trying to coddle him in his new human form, thinking they thought he didn’t have what it took. Cas had a mess of insecurities in his new human state.

“It’s my room, Dean,” Cas said pointedly, before eyeing the gifts in confusion. “What are you doing?” he wondered, moving into the room, Dean revolving around him to the point where they basically switched positions and Dean stood warily at the door peering in.

The hunter let his gaze take in the other man’s appearance, the faded jeans and soft pullover sweater paired with a button down shirt. Curious fingers moved over the spines of the cd cases, inspecting them and the player, before ridiculously blue eyes drifted over to Dean again, soft with wonder and warmth.

“These are for me?”

Tongue darting over his bottom lip, Dean broke eye contact and shuffled his feet awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, a house warming present. People do it when you move into a new place or something, I-I’m not very familiar with it myself.” He glanced up at Cas. “It means ‘Welcome home’.” He could feel his face heating up, and quickly looked away, coughing and nodding his head toward the bag of chocolate. “And, uh, you might want to find a drawer to hide those in. If Sam finds out you have them, they aren’t safe.”

Smiling, the angel gave a nod. “Thank you… Dean.”

Returning the expression, Dean nodded and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Okay, well, I have to get started making dinner-“

“May I help?” the other man asked quickly, then seemed to wince, like he hadn’t actually meant for the words to come out.

Smile spreading wider, Dean gave a single nod, reaching out to wrap an arm around the angel’s shoulders and lead him toward the kitchen. “Sure. I need all the help I can get with cooking around here. If Kevin had his way, we’d been living on ramen noodles, and Sam only knows how to make chili. And sadly, Charlie hasn’t agreed to just move in yet.”

The angel was nodding. “Yes, I’ve notice we all look forward to nights when you cook the most.”

“It’s because I’m awesome.”

Cas turned his head to look at him, their eyes meeting, and Dean saw that some of the haunted expression that had been lurking in them was gone. “You are awesome,” he agreed, and Dean squeezed his shoulder affectionately and launched into an explanation of what they were having for dinner and where they had to start.

 

END

 


	6. #6 Are you listening? It's me, Dean Winchester.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I prayed to you! Every night!" Missing scenes from Purgatory.

            Dean’s voice is the first thing Cas hears in the mornings. It’s also the last thing he hears at night fall. Some nights he hears it all through the dark hours, sometimes it’s just his name he hears.

            He hears Dean loud and clear, but doesn’t answer, can’t answer, though the loss of his friend’s presence is worse than anything he’s gone through since they landed in Purgatory. It’s worse than anything he’s experienced before, which is an interesting realization, though he can make no sense of it. How Dean’s voice in his head, while being so far away, aches worse than physical torture he’s endured. Forcing himself to stay away when Dean sounds so desperate and scared feels like dying.

            But this is for Dean’s benefit. He is keeping Dean safe by staying one step ahead of him, or trying best he can to anyway. Truth be told, Dean seems better at tracking him than all the monsters in Purgatory combined. Half the time, Cas isn’t running to lead the monsters away from the hunter, he’s just running from the, well, hunter.

            _‘Day, uh,… I’ve stopped counting,’_ Dean says. _‘Weeks. Close to a month now. They all blend together seeing as how I don’t require food or sleep here, which is a relief because I haven’t seen the first thing I could eat, unless I want Roast Vampire, and haven’t had much of a chance to slow down, much less sleep.’_ He can hear Dean sigh, and how tired he sounds makes Cas’ heart clench tight in his borrowed body. _‘If you were here, Cas, we could watch out for each other. Take turns keeping watch so the other one can at least close their eyes. Wherever you are, Cas, I’ll find you. Don’t lose hope.’_

            A snort escapes Cas, and it’s dangerously close to being something else, something more like a sob. For weeks now, Dean has been acting under the assumption that Cas left because he was taken. Dean thinks he’s trying to save Cas, keeps encouraging the angel that he’s not alone, even though they are so far apart.

            In many ways, Castiel does feel trapped and alone, and it’s only Dean’s voice in his head that keeps him sane. Madness apparently can’t follow you into the world between worlds. If they do ever get out, he wonders if he’ll automatically lose his mind again, or if he’ll be in control like he is now. Well, what control he has, but feels dangerously close to losing. As hard as this world is, he likes being in control of his actions, rather than the befuddled dream-like state he’d been in before, where everything was too much, too confusing, where he felt too much.

 

 

 

            _‘I hear you’ve been seen running from and battling Leviathan. You can do it, Cas. Kick ‘em in the ass. Don’t let them capture you. There’s a cavern by the cliffs I had to lay low in for a few days, try to make your way there. It’s safe. Well, safer than being out in the open. I’m making my way to your last known. If we miss each other, wait for me at the cavern.’_

            Cas turns and runs in the opposite direction of the caverns.

 

 

 

            _‘I swear to God, if anything has happened to you Cas, there will be absolute hell to pay. I will kill every last monster in this place.’_ He goes quiet for a minute and Cas can still sense him thinking, can feel the way Dean’s feelings are a tumultuous, chaotic mess the angel cannot decipher. Human emotions are still so foreign to him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the other attached feeling to every throb of worry and anger. _‘Please be okay,’_ Dean prays, voice like a whisper ghosting over Castiel’s mind. His emotions are layered and complex and Cas stands no chance of understanding them, not when an angel’s emotions are so muted by comparison so as not to impair their soldier judgment.

            Steeling himself, Cas rises in the cavern long since abandoned by Dean. There’s a message carefully scratched onto the stone wall. _‘Wait for me.'’_

            Going to the entrance, the angel glances around and takes off at a jog.

 

 

 

            At one point, Dean’s voice goes quiet. He isn’t in Cas’ head that morning, nor as the hours drag on and Cas gets in a fight against several Leviathan, only to be saved when several other monsters show up to fight for who has rights to the angel. Castiel gets away while they kill each other off. It’s been silent in Cas’ mind all day by the time night falls, and Cas is straining to hear something, anything from the other man. He checks to make sure his angelic powers are still there and that this place isn’t draining him of them. Everything is in order, everything works, he should be able to hear Dean.

            Unless he can’t hear him because Dean can’t pray. Because there isn’t a Dean to pray.

            The only thing he can’t do is sense where Dean is, and that nearly drives Cas to insanity. He can’t fly to where Dean is, just to see for himself that the hunter is safe, even without revealing himself. It’s probably for the best. Castiel isn’t sure he has the will power to walk away from Dean twice if he saw him again.

            In the morning, Cas’ head is still silent and the angel is in a near panic, turning and running back in the direction Dean had last told him he was. He could be hurt. Silence doesn’t mean dead. Can’t mean dead. If Dean is dead…

            Cas can think of no reason to not just let the monsters have him if Dean is dead. He’s only alive in order to try and keep them away from the hunter, after all. With Dean gone, there’s no reason to keep doing this, to keep holding on. The only thing he was holding on to was Dean.

 

 

 

            He’s in the middle of a fight and getting ‘his ass handed to him’, as Dean would put it, when Dean’s perfect voice is in his head again.

            _‘Okay, giving you your space isn’t working. It’s worse than this one-sided telephone game,’_ Dean says, and he sounds angry and tired and worried. _‘I can't stand this, man. Where are you? I thought maybe you might try to come to me, change things up, but I can’t stand not at least trying to make this contact. Maybe one day you’ll hear me. Or maybe you can and just can’t answer. If you’re some place rough, Cas, I can’t stand the thought of you feeling like you’re there alone. I will find you and we’ll get through this. We’re gonna go home, Cas. Together. Hang in there.’_

            Castiel takes another blow to the jaw that sends him sprawling to the ground on his hands and knees, and despite the fatigue he feels, suddenly he’s up and fighting like a wild thing, using both his own powers and his body to lay out every one of the enemies that had surrounded him.

            Dean is _alive_! Alive and he hasn’t given up hope, is still looking for Cas, and if Dean is alive, Cas will keep fighting, won’t ever stop fighting. As long as Castiel is drawing attention to himself, and all the monsters and leviathan are focused on trying to capture and kill him, they can’t shift their focus to Dean.

            Bleeding and panting, Castiel is doubled over, wondering how long they’ve been in this hell dimension between dimensions where there is never any rest or time and only blood and fighting and running.

            A twig snaps as someone moves through the forest, jerking Cas from him thoughts. He straightens and takes off at a sprint. He’s far away from the clearly already when Dean steps into it minutes later.

 

           

 

            He’d been exhausted and tired beyond what words could describe when Dean actually caught up to him. Cas had only stopped for a minute. He’d been stupid, constantly coming back to this one place like he had, but it seemed to be the only place he found a reprieve. He didn’t know what powers the water held, but nothing ever came for him here.

            Until Dean Winchester. Of course it would be Dean that found Castiel when he didn’t want to be found, when he was so tired and lonely there was no way Cas would be able to walk away again. Of course it was Dean that never stopped looking for Cas for the better half of a year, that kept the angel running as much from him as the monsters.

            A flood of emotions nearly overwhelm him, most of them unfamiliar, leaving him unable to properly say what all he felt, torn between joy at seeing Dean with his own eyes and the heart racing fear that made him want to take off running again. There was a terrible relief, as well, that _finally_ … he was done running. That he’d been caught. That the inevitable had finally taken place and there was not more fighting to be done.

 

 

 

            Dean didn’t stop praying once they were together again. The first time he heard the hunter’s voice in his head, he’d started sharply, head snapping in the other man’s direction, suddenly panicked that they’d somehow gotten separated again. Now that they were together, Cas wasn’t sure he could survive their separation. Knew he _couldn’t_.

             It was part of the plan, but not yet, not _now_ , not until he’d seen Dean to safety first. Then...

            _‘We’re gonna make it through this, Cas’_ the hunter said. Castiel's reaction was enough to make Benny look at him curiously, then to Dean where Cas had snapped his attention. The hunter was seated with his back against the broad trunk of a tree, sharpening and cleaning his weapon, for all the world not aware of either of them. _‘We’re gonna make it through and go home. Don’t you give up, you hear me? I need you.’_

            It wasn’t the first time Dean had said that. Cas thought it was an odd choice of words. Clearly, the hunter was doing fine on his own in Purgatory, had even found an ally and a way out long before he’d ever actually found Castiel.

            _‘I need you.’_

            Need.

            Castiel sighed and turned back to washing Leviathan ooze off of his hands. The human language was frustrating. Needs were things you couldn't live without, couldn't survive without: air, water, food. To be deprived of a _need_ would ensure your death.

            He rose and stole a glance at the hunter as he and Benny discussed where they are heading and what was the best way to get there.

            Dean did not need Castiel. It was quite possibly the opposite. Even more so, Dean would be better off without Castiel, safer, away from the vengeance of Heaven that would rain down on the angel once they got back home. Here or there, Castiel would be targeted, and so long as he remained by Dean’s side, the hunter was just as easily a casualty of the war Castiel had started.

            ‘ _I need you safe,_ ’ thought Cas, wishing not for the first time that the hunter could hear the angel’s prayers. _‘Safe and alive, and that will be enough for me. Will_ have _to be enough, because you are better off if I stay behind where my enemies can’t get to you. Because I need_ you _, Dean.’_

End

 


	7. #7 Here I am without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for was Dean to get to see Cas’ adapted people skills, and maybe even flirting ability, with lots of angst. This whole Tumblr collection part is gonna be all angst. Apparently y’all are on a kick.
> 
> Takes place before the episode where we learn Ezekiel’s true identity.

The chime above the door to the diner dinged, just as Cas and Dean slid into opposite sides of the booth from each other, Dean smoothing down his tie while Castiel glanced curiously toward the door, expecting Sam.

            “Did your brother say how long he thought he might be?” Their eyes met across the table, the hunter arching a brow. Just seeing the other man shouldn’t hurt like this. “Should we wait for him or go on asking questions?”

            Scoffing, Dean waved him off, returning the waitress’ smile and nod of greeting as she signaled she’d seen them. He wanted to act normal, like everything in him didn’t want to beg Cas’ forgiveness, beg, plead, and grovel that the angel take him back, even though it had been the hunter who’d said to leave.

“No. That’s the great thing about a team, I guess. He can do research while you and I do the running around. Saves time,” he said as they scanned over their menus.

            The waitress came and took their orders then, Dean watching curiously the ease with which Cas interacted with the woman, smiling openly and head angled as he gave her his full attention, even going so far as to throw the harried woman a wink, making her to grin as she scurried off with their orders. The moment she was gone, Dean watched the shift in the other man’s demeanor take place, the way the smile full of warmth was suddenly gone, expression turning serious instead, as long fingers folded together on the table top. Castiel pivoted toward Dean as he opened his mouth, clearly ready to ask a question, but faltered at whatever expression was on his friend’s face.

            “What?” he wondered, blue eyes searching.

            Shifting his expression to something neutral, the blond pursed his lips and shook his head, trying to ignore how hard it was to breathe. “Wha- Nothing, was just thinking.” The way the other man tilted his head in confusion coaxed a shadow of a smirk out of him, easing the tightness in his chest. This was familiar. _This_ was Cas. The Cas he knew. “You’ve gotten better at interacting with others, is all.”

            This Cas was both his Cas and a stranger, if felt like. Dean had watched him all day, fascinated and sick, as Castiel interacted effortlessly with people, put on faces and took them off like masks, like a hunter, wielding his expressions like a weapon. The former angel could be charming when it would get him his way, or as gruff soldier-mode as he needed to be to get what he wanted.

It made Dean feel like he were losing his friend, the man that had such a place in Dean’s heart that his death had been the final straw to break the hunter, when not even losing Sam had been able to. It felt like Cas were drifting like smoke, sliding through his fingers and falling away from Dean.

            In his mind, he saw the alternate future version of Castiel, the one that was a broken shell of who’d he’d once been, that had completely lost his hope and will, a world where both Cas and Dean’s other-selves hung on and stayed alive more out of habit than desire.

            How long did it take for his Cas to become the Cas in that timeline? What had to happen to push the angel that far?

            Across from him, Castiel shrugged elegantly and leaned back in his seat, leg barely brushing Dean’s under the table as he stretched out. The hunter took a sip of his drink, tried to dissipate the dryness of his throat and mouth.

            “Survival demanded adaptation after…” Cas let the sentence hang unfinished, making a vague gesture with one hand instead.

            “After I threw you out.”

            Something in Cas’ eyes flashed, hard and hurt and angry all at once. Even though Dean was the one to say it, though they had been his actions, it still made him want to flinch, dropping his gaze guiltily. Telling Cas to leave had hurt more than Dean knew how to articulate, had hurt more than he thought himself capable of enduring. He’d wanted to go running after the angel as soon as he’d left, to do whatever he had to to make the angel come back home where he’d be safe and with the people who loved him most.

            But he couldn’t. Was reminded why he couldn’t every time Sam looked at him with that worried expression, hazel eyes studying his features, leaving Dean to wonder if it was Sam watching him, or Ezekiel. Even after he’d spun the half-truth to Cas about why the angel was having to stay away, that he risked bringing Heaven down on them while Sam was still healing, and that not even the bunked could withstand all of Heaven raining down on it… it didn’t ease the barbed wire wrapped around Dean’s chest, the way it’s metal thorns sunk deeper every time he remembered Cas was out there on his own.

            Sighing, Cas shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table as he ducked his head trying to catch Dean’s gaze. The hunter glanced at him.

            “I know why you did it, Dean,” he said, sounding so understanding it only made it hurt worse and Dean couldn’t hold his eye anymore, casting his gaze to the side, staring at their reflections in the winow instead. Cas mimicked him, propping his chin in his hand. “Sam always comes first for you, it’s been your whole life. If you were willing to sell your own soul to save him, this really is mild by comparison. I think I needed it.”

            Dean did look at him then, head snapping sharply to look at the man across the table. Blue eyes slid to regard him, the corner of the former angel’s mouth curling up in a look that was playful. The angel clearly had no idea how his trying to be strong was killing Dean one knife under his ribs at a time.

            “Had to learn I could stand on my own two feet, you know? See for myself I was still capable- even without my grace, without being what I had always been and taken for granted.” His smirk became a grin, teeth and gums in a way Dean had never seen from him. How was he always so beautiful? Even without his grace, Dean couldn’t ever mistake him for anything but an angel. “I could hear the same ass chewing Bobby gave me last time I was human.” A huff of laughter escaped the hunter, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as he imaged the lecture Bobby would probably give all of them were he still alive. God, Dean missed him. He could really do with the other man’s counsel given recent events.

            As the waitress came out with their food, Cas threw him a smile, but this time it was warmer, more private. “Besides, you’ve never done anything but amaze me with what you’re capable of. You’re my reference when I don’t know what to do. I end up mimicking you a lot.”

            Snorting, Dean bit his bottom lip, giving his head a light shake. “I’m gonna go ahead and tell you I am so not life-model material, buddy.” He grinned cheekily and prayed Cas couldn’t see the way it was forced.

            Giving a one sided shrug, Castiel angled his head and winked at him. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you turned out alright,” he drawled, giving the hunter a look Dean would swear- coming from anyone else- was flirtatious.

            He huffed a laugh and looked down at his drink. “Dude, I’ve got a list of flaws and fuck-ups longer than my arm. Can’t seem to stop making them no matter how hard I try.” The truth of his next words made him look up at the angel. “Maybe it’s best you’re free of me now before you get hurt- or worse, killed, like I seem to get everyone around me killed.”

            The man on the other side of the booth canted his head, eyes impossibly blue even without his Grace, studying Dean in a way that made the hunter feel naked. Then, in a flash, one hand had snapped out, yanking Dean forward by his tie, Castiel meeting him half way over the table until their noses nearly brushed, gaze still studying even as the hunter’s eyes had widened in surprise and a twinge of fear, remembering the other times he’d pushed too far.

            His eyes grew wider still as Cas closed the distance between them and pressed their mouths together, other patrons of the diner be damned. It was a soft kiss, barely more than a press of lips together before the former angel was pulling away and sitting back in his seat, his eyes fathomless and mouth curled at the corner in a way that was possessive and sad.

            “Push me away all you want, Dean, for my own sake or the sake of yourself and others,” he said lowly with a shake of his head, “but you’ll never actually be rid of me.” He winked, and it was definitely flirting. “You walking away only means I have to follow you, not that you get to leave me behind, Winchester.”

            Tongue darting out over his lips, Dean made an aborted move to reach for the hand the angel still had on the table, drawing his hands back and dropping them beneath the booth instead, gripping his knees to hide how badly he was shaking. He kept his gaze locked on the table top.

            “Cas… I _will_ find a way to be able to bring you home one day.” He lifted his gaze, willing the angel to understand. “I just need time.” _Please don’t give up,_ he thought. _Don’t give up on this, or on me._

            Castiel nudged his foot beneath the table as he inclined his head curtly. “I’m looking forward to that day, Dean.”

            A bitter laugh escaped the blond and he shook his head, before forcing himself to meet the other man’s gaze.

            “Not as much as I am, Cas.”

End


	8. #8 Coping  with Helplessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: This was written after the haitus started when one of the writers, Adam Glass, made a comment on twitter about wanting a certain something in fics. And well, given that I had seen the preview of the next episode (9.10, Road Trip), I saw no reason not to combine my idea of what was to come with what he requested.

The screams of pain from the man strapped to the chair had long since been more than the elder Winchester could bear and he’d fled the dungeon. Castiel watched him go, eyes trailing after the human from where the angel was leaning back to half sit on a table. Cas had stayed and watched Crowley work for thirty minutes more, eyes trailing the collar and chain holding the King of Hell in place, as did the devil’s trap he was working within the confines of.

            Crowley wasn’t going anywhere even if he wanted. Wouldn’t _try_ to go anywhere until after he’d finished his end of the deal and expelled Gadreel from Sam’s body. The angel in question had dug his heels in, determined not to go anywhere either. Having endured millennia of torture in the prison of Heaven, Cas knew breaking Gadreel and expelling him from Sam’s body would be no quick feat.

            With a sigh, he pushed away from the table. Crowley caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, turning his head just enough to slid the angel a glance, brow arching.

            Castiel nodded to the demon. “Do what you can. Spare Sam as much as you are able.”

            For once, the demon was not smirking, face all business as he fiddled with the device around Sam’s/Gadreel’s head.

            “See to the other one,” he said lowly, before turning his full attention back to the strapped down angel, and his actions ripped another scream from Sam’s borrowed throat.

            Clenching his teeth, Cas turned away and followed after Dean, uncertain where to even look for the other man. Gadreel’s cries of pain using Sam’s voice followed him as he climbed the stairs from the bowels of the Men of Letters base to on the main floor. Castiel let his eyes roam over the library and the hallway leading to the bedrooms, trying to ascertain where Dean would go.

            His ears led him to the kitchen, finding Dean already having covered the counters of the kitchen in ingredients and bowls, measurers and utensils. The hunter was pouring milk into a measuring cup, expression dark and angry.

            Creeping forward, Castiel took in the eggs, the bag of chocolate chips, the flour swiped on Dean’s cheek… and frowned.

            “Dean?” he asked cautiously, realizing the other man had not even noticed the seraph right by his side.

            The blond went rigid, tight clenched fists white-knuckling on the wooden handle he held. Castiel watched as the other man swallowed thickly and dropped his gaze to the bowl of what by all appearances seemed to be the makings of cookie batter.

            “When Sam was detoxing from demon blood, I thought I’d go crazy sitting around,” Dean began, voice low and harsh, as though scrapped from the deepest part of him. His eyes were distant, locked but unseeing. “I don’t do so well having to sit around, waiting. If something is wrong, I wanna be the guy taking first swing at it, you know? I can’t stand not acting.” A mirthless smile crossed his lips, and he snorted bitterly as he poured the milk into a bowl and began stirring. “I dismantled and cleaned every gun and weapon I could get my hands on until Bobby came upstairs as well and yelled that I wasn’t allowed to touch them until my hands could be trusted not to fire one accidentally.”

            He did glance at the angel at his side then, barely meeting Cas’ gaze before he tore his eyes away like it hurt. “The only thing he’d let me near was his kitchen. I’d already taken a crowbar to one of the junkers out back, so he wasn’t gonna let me try to work on one of them. I cooked and baked until I ran out of ingredients, the fridge was stocked and the cabinets were bare. Bobby and I were heating up leftovers for weeks.”

            A scream from the dungeon echoed through the whole of the base, and Dean spasmed as though stabbed, shoving the bowl away and gripping the edge of the counter top in such a way Cas worried the bones in the hunter’s hands might give. His borrowed heart squeezed tight in his chest. Though he had some of his angelic power back, there was nothing it could do for Sam, or Dean. The sense of helplessness he felt at seeing the tears that squeezed passed Dean’s clamped lids was enough to make Cas feel ill.

            “I can’t stand it, Cas,” admitted the other man wetly. “My own weakness caused this-“

            “Dean-“

            “Because I don’t know how to _exist_ without Sam-“

            “Dean-“

            “And _now_ -“ The hunter straightened, looking at Castiel like the angel might actually have some answer, “now the demon who’s taken more from us than I can even keep count of any more is the _only_ hope we have at saving him, is using his _torture_ techniques, the same ones he used on _Alfie_ -“ He cut off abruptly and shook his head. “What am I gonna do, Cas? How am I gonna make this right by Sam? He’s _never_ gonna forgive me.”

            Dean didn’t seem to notice the way he was shaking from head to toe, a trembling hand raising to wipe away traitorous tears that fell.

            Not knowing what else to do, Cas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the other man, feeling the way the hunter’s hands curled in the material of his jacket, shaking as he buried his face in the tan fabric.

            “Sam will forgive you eventually, Dean. Time is all we need. Time to save him. Time for him to understand and forgive, as well.”

            The man in his arms shifted to speak, but were his mouth not so close to Cas’ ear, the angel wasn’t sure he would have heard it.

            “He let _me_ go.”

            Castiel nearly winced, remembering the one time Dean had opened up to him about the betrayal he’d felt at learning his own brother had not tried to save him when they’d been sent to Purgatory. He rubbed a hand over the soft material stretched across Dean’s spine.

            “You let him go, once, too. Walked away like he asked.” The steady tremor in Dean’s body had passed, like he’d been coming apart at the seams in Cas’ arms. “Given time, I’m sure he’ll realize it was impossible for you to actually do it twice. To go through that again. He’ll forgive you for holding on and trusting in someone that came to you offering to help, the same way _you_ eventually forgave _him_ for turning and walking away without ever looking for you, me, or Kevin.” He pulled back so that he could look directly into those green eyes, cupping the sides of Dean’s face in his hands. “You weren’t trying to cause him pain. You were trying to save him, even from himself.”

            “He wanted to die, though, Cas. I should have thought about him, about what he wanted-“ he insisted, hands at the other man’s waist.

            The angel shook his head. “Dean. Sam had just spent months going through the trials. Those do things to a person, wear on a body, mind, and soul. Had Sam not been struggling under such a burden for so long, I do not think he’d have been so ready to just give up.”

Stretching, Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead, the hunter’s eyes clamping closed again at the contact, more tears falling as the angel willed his Grace and whatever forces might actually still be looking out for the Winchesters to repair what Castiel could not. Just as losing Sam would destroy Dean; Cas could not imagine surviving losing Dean, not again.

Castiel stepped away just as another scream tore through the corridors, jerking Dean’s gaze past the angel and toward the doorway. The shorter man caught his eye, brows raised in question.

“Is there some way I may help with your current project?”

A huff of laughter escaped the hunter, head bobbing in consent. “Alright.” He turned back to the abandoned bowl, trying for a casual glance at the angel, but his eyes said too much, said more than the hunter had ever dared to say. “Don’t suppose you learned how to bake cookies during your brief time as a human?”

Reaching out with both hands, Cas grabbing Dean’s wrist with one hand, the lip of the bowl with the other. The hand on his wrist squeezed gently, the angel trying to convey everything he’d never been able to say in response. He pulled the bowl closer.

“No, but you’ll find I’m a quick study,” he promised, the two of them setting about with far too much diligence to the task, both trying to pretend the screams from the basement were becoming fewer and farther between.

 

End


	9. #9 Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a tumblr prompt, this was my idea, but threw it in anyway because it was an idea/drabble and it fit the angsty theme you decided on for this collection. Takes place after episode 9.10 "Hard Road" in which Castiel reflects on recent events and where that leaves things as far as the future.

            Things in the Men of Letters base were eerily quiet now. It seemed too big with just Castiel and Sam within its walls. Somehow, Cas felt like an intruder without Dean’s presence there making everything alright.

            Sam was seated against the end of the table in the library, the angel’s hands framing the sides of his face as he tried to ascertain the damage to the inside of the hunter, prioritizing what he needed to see to first, while keeping in mind what could be taken care of easiest. There was residual grace from his brother within every atom of Sam Winchester’s body, reflecting that it was the angel that had actually been keeping Sam from falling to pieces, that he had, in fact, been working to slowly heal Sam- slowly, because his own injuries were so great, it took everything in Gadreel to keep them both alive.

            There was evidence Gadreel had been forced to expend a great amount- given Sam’s and his condition, a _dangerous_ amount- of his grace multiple times. Castiel made a note to question the hunter about it later, if his blocked memories were all in order. Then again, perhaps it would be best to ask Dean instead.

            His hands fell away, frowning as he worried over what he was suppose to do. Cas would give just about anything to have his wings back, to have the ease of just being able to appear by Dean’s side to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t though, didn’t even know where the hunter was, and couldn’t leave Sam long enough to go search for him. Healing Sam from the outside in, and without his previous amount of power, meant frequent low-level healings.

            So lost in his own thoughts, Castiel didn’t notice the hazel eyes that had opened and now studied his face, worriedly.

            “Cas?”

            The angel blinked with a start, stepping away with a shake of his head to allow the other man to rise.

            “I apologize, Sam. I got distracted.” The human made no move to rise, and Castiel looked at him with a nod. “You will be fine. If we continue regular healing treatments, all the damage the trials did to you will eventually be repaired. Gadreel appears to have been putting you back together molecule by molecule from the inside.” He didn’t miss the way Sam clenched his teeth, audiblly drawing in a breath and releasing it through his nose. Cas winced again. “I didn’t- I mean…” He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away. “You’ll be fine, Sam. In time.”

            The younger hunter bobbed his head, casting his gaze about but not really seeing anything of the library and base around them.

            Finally, it was Sam that voiced the question on repeat in Cas’ mind. “Well, what now?” he asked, making the angel’s eyes widen a fraction.

            The question was too big, too ambiguous for Castiel to even fathom. He had no answers or solutions to anything that was going on, what with the war between angels, the war between demons, the eventual war between the two victors over earth and humanity.

            To be honest, Cas hadn’t even thought as far as that. His mind was as consumed with the image of Dean walking away from them as it had been in that moment, the gut wrenching, hollowing out feeling of having to _let_ Dean walk away, because Dean wanted him to look after Sam, to see through what had started this all to begin with: saving his brother.

            Castiel didn’t know enough words to properly convey what it had been like to have to let Dean leave, muted and suppressed though his feelings were by his newly acquired and foreign grace. Without his Grace to help him focus on the mission he’d been tasked with, Cas knew there would have been no way from him to not take off after Dean, whether on foot, or to eventually jump back into his stolen car and head after him, phone pressed to his ear, praying Dean would answer.

            “I don’t know,” he told Sam finally. The other man nodded as Cas continued, “I’m here to aid you, Sam, so whatever you decide is what we shall do.” He shook his head. “I have little idea of what you and your brother have been up to between the last time I saw you and when I received Dean’s call for help.”

            Nodding, Sam looked down at his hands. “Can’t say I know what to do, either, Cas.”

            “That is okay, too.”

            A bitter laughed escaped the taller male as he rake a hand through his hair, anger flaring to life in his eyes. “I mean, part of me knows what I need to do, get back to work, keep figuring out the tablet, do what we’ve been doing, because that whole cluster is still hanging over my head, but at the same time, part of me is so… _angry_ , I can’t-“ His voice did a weird thing, making Cas regard him with a frown as Sam’s mouth clicked shut, lips twisted at the corners in a sharp, cutting smile as he shook his head and tried to reconcile the war within.

            “Nothing has to be decided today,” Cas told him finally, voice even and smooth.

            The man snapped his head to look at him, brows raised in surprise, before the whole of his face softened, shoulders sagging as he nodded his agreement. Pushing to his feet, Sam clapped a hand on the angel’s shoulder as he passed, Cas’ gaze locked on the wood grain of the table, missing the way the hunter paused in the door way, pivoting to regard the angel’s back.

            “Hey,” he called softly, making the shorter man turn, brows raised in silent question. Sam jerked his chin at him. “What about you? How are you holding up?”

            Cas’ mind thrust forward his desperate, keening need to go after Dean, his anxiousness and anger at being unable to. It reminded him that even were he to call the hunter right now, the other man would not answer, probably trying to steel his resolve to walk away and leave them behind, knowing that hearing from Cas or Sam would crumble his will to dust.

            The angel thought about the foreign grace in his body that allowed him what little help he could offer, thought of the way Castiel had felt so stripped, vulnerable, and lost when he’d been forced to become a human, everything so much and so new and confusing. Now the way he could compare what he’d lost in becoming human, and what being an angel took away from him. He hadn’t realized it until he’d become host to an angel’s grace again how his grace controlled what he felt, how much he felt. It made him want to rail against what felt like a glass wall separating him from the depth of emotion that was his by right, the emotion he was slowly beginning to properly understand.

            Like the fact that Castiel was in love with Dean.

Or, well, _human_ Castiel was in love with Dean. As an angel, his grace only let him experience his own emotions to a certain point and no further. So while he knew he loved Dean differently than, say Sam, that it was somehow more desperate, it was also carefully controlled so as to keep them at a distance from each other, to still keep Castiel tied to Heaven.

The memory of those stripped and cut off feelings haunted Cas like phantom appendages were said to ache with pain. He could still feel them, though the whisper of his grace told him they weren’t actually there, and the whole of it truly made Castiel wonder if what he lost as a human was worth what he gained as an angel, if he was truly _contemplating_ willingly giving up his grace and his power in order to be _free_ instead. Free to live and to love, and possibly be loved in return. Could he not be as brave as his humans, his fragile humans who had never known his power and fought anyway, be as brave as they were and willingly join them this time? To be able to fully appreciate his humanity rather than running scared because of it?

Could he call Dean and just assure the other man that when he was ready, the blond could come home and that they would be waiting? That the two of them have never had anything but the best of intentions, but despite it always getting turned around the worst way possible, it didn’t mean either of them should stop trying and just give up, either.

Sucking in a deep breath, Cas straightened and squared his shoulders, nodding his head once to Sam as he finally answered, “I’m doing the best that can be expected given the circumstances. That’s all we can do.”

And it was.

 

End


	10. #10 Children's Valentines Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Prompt: Valentine's day in kindergarten (I JUST NEED A CUTE DESTIEL KIDDY FIC) ps I love you

It was Valentine’s Day, and Jodi Mills’ kindergarten class was an explosion of glitter and paper doilies glued to lopsided hearts made of construction paper. Everywhere all around the room were decorations the kids had been making the past few days, carefully crafted treasures that more often than not seemed to have been a personal challenge of glueing as much glitter to the paper as possible.

Jo and Charlie’s parents were probably going to be washing glitter out of their hair for the next week after the ‘magic battle’ they’d gotten into, before Jodi had intervened and given them crayons instead. The drying glue gave patches and strands of hair much the same consistency as straw, but the girls seemed rather proud of the sparkles Jodi could only sigh and shake her head about.

The girls weren’t the only ones getting into the holiday. A jar filled with multicolor marbles was the prize to be won, and while the girls were rather unimpressed, the boys were competeing fiercly for it: with memory games, balance and coordination challenges, an accumulative point system for the past week of who had kept their work station the cleanest.

Gabriel and Dean were viciously going head to head competing against each other, even privately on the playground to see who could outdo the other, while others like Castiel and Alfie observed the competition with wide, curious eyes, but didn’t join in. Gabriel was a ball of uncontained sugar induced energy, and God help her, she was more than happy to let him get as much of it out of his system as possible.

Dean being so fiercely competitive was unusual though. The weight with which it seemed to _matter_ to the small blond boy was surprising. She’d never seen him so determined, he’d been on his absolute best behavior all week, had won every game and competition so far, and had even beaten Gabriel as his own game of who could drink three cartons of chocolate milk faster.

Dean didn’t even _like_ milk, chocolate or otherwise.

In light of his well deserved victory, after they’d had afternoon snack, Jodi made a production of presenting Dean with his trophy. The small boy hugged the jar tightly to his chest, like he was trying to contain his own excitement over having won. That was, until Gabriel made to grab at the prize, exclaiming loudly that he got to go first in their game of marbles.

"No!" Dean cried out, curling his body and turning so that his back was to the other boy, shielding his new treasure. Gabriel immediately burst into tears, wailing at the top of his lungs with one little finger pointing accusingly at Dean.

Jodi gave Dean a disapproving look while the other children watched in cautious silence, crayons stilling over paper as heads turned to look.

"Dean," the teacher said in quiet reprimand. "What have we said about sharing?"

He cast a worried glance at all the other faces in the room, then slid his gaze away, face growing red with embarrassment. “S’not a toy,” he mumbled. “It’s a present.”

She blinked with surprise, and several of the children leaned forward eagerly, straining to hear what was being said. Cas’ eternally worried expression seemed even more so, brows furrowed and wide blue eyes flicking back and forth between his friend and their teacher. Even Gabriel’s sobs had quieted down, sulkily accepting the peppermint Alfie offered him while listening for the reason he was being denied.

"A present for whom?" she asked.

The boy blushed even darker red with embarrassment before ducking his head and making his way over to the table where Castiel was still poised with a crayon in hand. Biting his bottom lip, Dean held out his hard earned prize, whole face encompassed by his blush.

"S’for you," he said, voice soft and earnest, "Cause you’re my favorite." Their gazes met and Dean urged for Cas to take the gift. "I wanna be your favorite, too."

Small hands reached out to take the present, staring at it in awe, before Castiel hugged the jar, and then reached over to retrieve something from the chair next to him. Wearing a blush of his own now, Castiel held out the heart shaped valentine he’d been doing over and over again all week until he’d been satisfied with it.

He offered it to Dean, smiling shyly. “You _are_ my favorite, Dean. For always.”


	11. #11: Ultimate Shipper Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: You probably have no time to do this but if you're in the mood someday, could you write a cute little post 10.05 fic with shipper!sam, who brings up destiel and sastiel the whole time because he is an adorable goofball? (mp3 podfic included)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Audio version available [here](http://www.mediafire.com/listen/dhuiyuwah6joyzm/ultimate_shipper_sam.mp3).

**Anonymous said: You probably have no time to do this but if you're in the mood someday, could you write a cute little post 10.05 fic with shipper!sam, who brings up destiel and sastiel the whole time because he is an adorable goofball?**

Oh dear, sweet, precious, Anon…. you asked for it. ^_^ *cracks knuckles* Shipper!Sam coming right up!

 

Though neither of them says it, Dean knew their run in with Marie and the others did he and Sam some good. Did them a lot of good, actually. They’d been so lost, trying to get back to themselves, and the girls had simply set them straight again. They’d reminded them of who they were, where they came from, what they had to do, and even reminded them that they weren’t alone in their fight, which was amazing.

It had been what Dean and Sam both desperately needed. Sam’d been practically cheerful since, which would be weird if Dean weren’t so happy to see his brother in such a good mood. Hell, Dean was in a good mood, and kept having to stop himself from tapping out the beat to the opening Supernatural musical number that was playing out in his head.

They weren’t okay yet, but they were better on their way to that place than they had been. It didn’t surprise Dean when Sam’s phone rang, and after digging it out of his pocket, the younger Winchester had answered with a cheerful, “Hey, Cas!”

Dean could only imagine the pause of confusion on the other end of the phone, the angel frowning at the electronic device before questioning, “Sam?” Happy Winchesters were rare and not to be taken lightly.

"Yeah, it’s me, Cas. Great timing, we were just talking about you." Glancing away from the road, Dean frowned at his brother, because no they had not. Sam just grinned and nodded pointedly at the caution light in the distance they would need to turn at. "Since you aren’t leading the angels, and if you aren’t, y’know, busy, you should come back home. Dean wanted to ask you to, but you know how he is, and with it technically being my fault he was blackmailed into asking you to leave when he didn’t want to, I’m extending the invitation this time."

There was a pause, in which Dean tried to close his slack jawed mouth while simultaneously attempting to hear what Castiel was saying on the other end that had Sam huffing an amused laugh. Sam assured, “No, Cas, I am not drunk. I-  _We_ want you to come home- if you would like.”

In the driver’s seat, Dean held his breath while both he and Sam waited for the other man’s response. The grin that spread across Sam’s face was all the answer Dean needed.

~*~

Dean didn’t catch on at first. He thought it was more of Sam just being unusually cheerful, or that he was maybe even leading up to starting a prank war, but the gleeful and sometimes even smug looks the taller male shot Dean’s way had nothing to do with practical jokes. In fact, if Dean didn’t know any better, he would think he and Sam had a silent bet going on, except Dean knew nothing about it.

Sam kept interjecting himself between Dean and Cas, like when they were researching in the library. Sam would shoot in front of Dean to slide into the chair next to the former angel before Dean could, leaving the blond to have to sit on the opposite side of the table frowning at the pair of them. Meanwhile, the corner of Sam’s mouth was curled in smug satisfaction.

Sam seemed to constantly be vying for Cas’ attention. Consulting him on ancient texts, or demonic and angelic activity. He enthusiastically told him about their first encounter at the all girls school and Supernatural the musical, making the angel cover his face with one hand as his laughed. The sight of it made something coil in the pit of Dean’s stomach, dark and possessive and jealous. He frowned and looked away, tried to focus on the text in front of him and ignore the easy laughter making his teeth grind.

It wasn’t until Sam pulled Cas up from his chair by the elbow with a “C’mon, Cas. Let’s go get a coffee. I’ll introduce you to my favorite place” that Dean finally snapped.

To be fair, it was the way Sam had thrown an arm around Cas’ neck and grinned back at Dean looking triumphant that did it. Dean had thrown his hands out demandingly, mouthing “What the FUCK are you doing?!”

Only to have Sam grin wider, the bitch, and  _wink at him,_ before licking his index finger and marking a point on an imaginary scoreboard, lips clearly forming the word “Sastiel”.

Oh he was  _ **NOT**_.

It took everything in Dean not to throw the book he was studying.

They hadn’t been gone five minutes before Dean was on his phone, texting his brother.  _'The hell are you doing?!'_

 **Sammy**  : _if for some reason a prophet continues bks about our lives, I’m creating my own subtext and ship. :p_

**Sammy:** _Sastiel for the win_

The elder Winchester nearly broke this phone screen with the force of his typing _"You cannot STEAL my angel!"_

 **Sammy** :  _Enough coffee and bonding, and I’m pretty sure the fans will think I have._ _Or that Hannah has. Apparently she’s grown quite fond of him recently. Hanstiel? Castannah?_

**Dean** _: This isn’t a game!_

**Sammy** _: Well, not if you don’t play. Megstiel is already canon, but I doubt it’ll be hard to beat THAT ships popularity._

~*~

Dean did not take his brother seriously. It was the start to some sort of prank war or something, Sam trying to get a rise out of Dean, and Dean would have been able to let it go and forget about it had Sam only left it alone.

They would be doing research in the library, when Sam or Cas might find something that made them compare notes and research, their chairs pulled closer together so they could collaborate, and Sam would make a point of meeting Dean’s eye to mark himself a point on that same imaginary scoreboard.

Sam wasn’t just keeping up with his points, either. The night it was Dean’s turn to do dishes, Cas ended up offering to dry if Dean washed, both of them talking easily as they did, grinning and shoulders occasionally brushing. Sam had poked his head in to ask something, only to get distracted.

"Hey Dean-oh! Destiel!"

The plate Dean had been washing ended up splashing back into the sink, whole face heating up as Cas looked at the brunette in confusion.

"What?"

The cheeky bitch just flashed a grin. “Ask Dean. Dean, I’m putting on a load of laundry. Want me to add your stuff to the pile?”

"Yes, if it’ll make you shut up and go away."

When Sam had gone, the angel had looked questioningly at the elder hunter, but Dean had held up a finger to stop his question. “Don’t. He’s being obnoxious. Ignore him.”

~*~

Dean had a much harder time following his own advice. It was Sam’s fault. How could Dean let it go or forget about it when Sam was there with a running tally constantly going?

Sam inviting Cas to go for a jog?  _Sastiel_.

Cas makes Dean laugh due to a reference he got and then countered with one Dean didn’t get?  _Destiel_.

Hannah called to check in on how Cas was doing, and quite clearly wanted to come by and actually see him?  _Double points for Hanstiel._

For  _days_ , like an ongoing soundtrack to his life were Sam’s whispers and stifled coughs adding to the score board. Sastiel, Sastiel, Hanstiel, Destiel, Sastiel, Hanstiel, along with little comments that just left Dean utterly confused as to what he had missed ‘Beautiful Destiel moment there, too bad you weren’t paying attention’, ‘I get the feeling Hanstiel might actually be popular with fans’, ‘If you aren’t careful Dean, someone may come and steal Cas away from you’.

And the worst part of it was that Dean was starting to  _feel_  as though he were losing Cas to either Hannah or Sam, what with all the points on the board Sam kept tallying out. The whole time Sam was manically gleeful, Dean increasing irate, poor Castiel was utterly  **baffled**  what was going on between the brothers.

It wasn’t even Hannah’s fault Dean was so extremely pissed off to see her when she did come by the bunker one day to check on her brother. (The Winchesters refused to allow her inside though) Well, it was partially her fault. She had tried to turn Cas against Dean and now was raking up a nice hoard of points for Hanstiel according to Sam’s dutiful scorekeeping. He had every reason to hate her.

Dean was leaning against the railing, arms folded and glowering at the door when Cas shut it with a final wave to his sister. Behind them in the War Room, Sam was seated in a chair with his hands folded behind his head, grinning.

"Dude, Destiel is getting it’s  _ass kicked_  here lately.”

Dean rounded on him, hands curling over the railing as he leaned forward to glare down at his brother. “Would you shut up? There is  _no_  Destiel!”

"Well certainly not at  _this rate_. Sastiel may be doomed to be forever bromance, but have you seen her? Hanstiel may just break up the Team Free Will family, dude. I can only fight for Destiel to win so much, Dean. You’re one half of that OTP, you have to fight for it, or you’re gonna lose your bae to an angel in a  _sensible work outfit_. That will just be embarrassing.”

"What  _are_  the two of you going on about?” demanded Cas, frustrated.

"Nothing," snapped Dean, as Sam cheerfully supplied, "Destiel."

"What is Destiel? You keep going on about these phrases, what are they?" Cas asked, looking back and forth between the two brothers.

"Better tell him, Dean," Sam called out, with the widest shit eating grin,  voice sounding cheerful and threatening, "because you really don’t want me to."

"What. Is. Des-"

"It’s  _us_ ,” Dean exclaimed, whirling on the angel. “Destiel is what fans call us, you and me. The fans of Chucks books have names for the couples they support in the books, and you and I are the Brangelina of Supernatural, okay?”

"And thanks to Hannah’s obvious epic crush, Hanstiel is the rising threat to CasDean- or DeanCas- ever becoming canon," called Sam, head angled and grinning.

Glaring, Dean jabbed a finger at his brother. “Stop. Helping!” he barked, before turning back to Castiel, mouth opening to try and further explain or argue, his whole face was encompassed in a blush.

He didn’t get to say anything else, because he was cut off by Castiel pushing into his personal space and pressing his mouth to Dean’s.

Earning a whoop and cheers of “Canon! Canon!” from Sam, as he nearly toppled out of his chair digging out his phone to let Charlie, Jodi, and even Crowley know.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open as Castiel pulled away, blue eyes regarding him with awe. “Hannah is no threat to… Destiel. No one is.”


	12. #12 In the Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt. "Samifer snuggles because Sam needs something nice in his life for once and why not make it satan." S7 Sam in the mental institute, pre-Emanuel. Mild angst.

It wasn’t that it was night outside the window of Sam’s room at the mental institution. It was a little after noon and the tray the nurse had brought was still sitting untouched on the desk beside the door. The lights were off, though, and it had begun raining that morning, a light drizzle after a grey morning that refused to dissipate. The low hum of the air conditioning had kicked on and Sam’s poor body was exhausted. That was what had driven him to bed. Various, unrelated factors leading to one logical conclusion. He didn’t need a mirror to know the shape he was in. He saw it in the worried looks of the doctors and nurses, the way the other patients teetered between giving him space and hovering a step away to catch him when he inevitably collapsed.

He couldn’t eat. He wouldn’t be able to choke down the tasteless mouthfuls of state-approved meals they distributed out on identical plastic khaki trays, as bland as the walls, uniforms, and everything else in the hospital. He needed sleep, _wanted_ it, yet ran from it. They had him medicated enough it would drop a horse, but he stayed there in that hell between sleep and awareness, clinging with jagged nails to that cliff’s edge praying he would and wouldn’t fall over into that abyss of darkness.

In that darkness was fire and pain and death and screaming and Hell. In that darkness were voices whispering in his ear, reminding him of every time he’d failed, every wrong step he’d taken leading to this moment. In the abyss he was confronted by the faces of those he’d failed to protect, looking at him in disgust and betrayal, faces and bodies contorted same as they had been in the final moments of their greatest agony, all the while their blood dripped thick and viscous from his hands, fat droplets slashing into the sea of red all around him, stretching out in every direction from beneath his feet.

So Sam didn’t sleep. He lay still, curled on his side like a child, with his face pressed into the worn thin pillow that smelled of bleach and disinfectant.

He didn’t move when he felt the presence at his back draw closer and lay beside him on the thin bed, mattress springs creaking slightly as they gave to accommodate their shared weight. Sam braced himself for a violent jarring, to be ripped from his quiet moment listening to the rain falling outside and against his window, to the air conditioning steadily blowing into his room. He waited to be torn from this hellish purgatory that was on the precipice of sleep without quite falling.

Instead, a hand came up to delicately move stray locks of hair away from his face and out of his eyes. Deft fingers coaxed them back and tucked them behind his ear. There was a pause, a moment of silence that hung thick and heavy in the air with unspoken question and withheld response while one of them waited and the other held his breath. When Sam said nothing, the hand returned, stroking over Sam’s hair, so faint and gentle that the hunter almost wept. Biting his bottom lip between his teeth, Sam shut his eyes, his brows drawn together as he swallowed, throat tight around the knot there. Like he had tried- and failed- to choke down the meal on the tray.

With a final pass over his hair, Lucifer’s hand and weight were gone and Sam braced himself, eyes clamped shut and every muscle taunt with tension as he waited for the blow to come, the explosion of sound, the rush of sensation, the sickening relocation to a place that was warm and safe and _home_. For this small haven of almost-peace to be wrenched from him.

The weight resettled without a word and Sam blinked his eyes open in surprise. The devil peered back at him, their noses nearly brushing as Lucifer settled onto the bed in front of him now. Sam’s entire body went rigid. He’d been fighting for so long not to acknowledge the angel, as if somehow, if he did it long enough it would finally reach a breaking point to make him go _away_.

Lucifer brought his hand up again, laying it against Sam’s cheek in a feather-light touch, thumb grazing lightly over Sam's cheekbone while Sam’s eyes played over his face trying to figure out this new strategy. What was this? Where would the next attack would come from, Lucifer's final push on the shattered remnants of Sam's exhausted mind? Instead of an attack, deft fingers slid into his hair and then through, tracing over the back of his skull until the strands slipped all the way between them.

Then he repeated the movement, and the sensation was such a miserable comfort Sam closed his eyes on a whimper. But he didn’t move away. He didn’t move and Lucifer didn’t speak and they stayed there, in the sanctity of the air conditioning and the rain-filled day beyond the window, in silence. Sam felt his muscles uncoil little-by-little, his weight sinking into the mattress.

He opened his eyes once more only to find Lucifer’s closed, his whole face peaceful for the first time. It made him look younger. Human. Sam closed his eyes again, not caring if it was a trap, or if he’d hate himself for this later. For the first time in a long time, he had a moment of peace.

It didn’t matter where it came from, he would take it.


	13. #13 Now Come Dance with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt #13 for Samifer. "Shut up. Now come dance with me."

Now Come Dance With Me

Tumblr prompt #13

Written by: Tenoko1

 

            People do not understand the full extent of what it means to lead a weird life unless they can walk into the library of their secret underground base only to find Lucifer waltzing with an invisible partner. Say that again to yourself. Secret. Underground. Library. In an impenetrable base protected by magic, by the way. And Lucifer, the actual, real, genuine fallen angel, ruler of Hell, and father of demons _waltzing_ around like it was just the thing to do at three in the morning.

            No one’s life would ever be as bizarre as Sam Winchester’s.

            Standing in the archway, Sam watched in silence a moment, listening to the fallen angel hum as he danced. His movements were perfect, even with his eyes closed in perfect contentment. Sam was pretty sure the music was from _Sleeping Beauty._

The weird, disturbing, unnerving part was not the sight of the Father of Hell in their batcave, or that he moved with careless grace, a smile softening the corners of his mouth. No, the strangest part was that it was real, and that at some point between the day when Gabriel and Lucifer had showed up at their door (half-dead and very human) and now, Sam had somehow gotten use to having the other man there.

            As use to him as one could, anyway. It wasn’t to say that this Lucifer wasn’t new and different and his own brand of strange, what with the humility he’d shown and the obsession with music none then understood.

            “He’s the _Angel of Music_ ,” Gabriel supplied, in a tone that clearly stated he thought they had all taken too many hits to the head over the years. “The angel of music who has been forced to live in silence for millenia on end. How did you _expect_ he’d react to hearing it again?”

            No room with Lucifer in it was ever quiet now, that was for certain. Sam had never born witness to him like this, though. Carefree and easy. It seemed every time they met, Sam was confronted by a new side of the angel. He still couldn’t compress them all down into a single defining image. Instead, Lucifer was a multifaceted creation that either reflected Sam’s own image- or cut him with its edges. Maybe Lucifer was- and would forever be- a reflection in an endless series of mirrors, each framing their own unique image and angle.

            It made Sam curious. Made him want to know more, to see the many different sides of the angel.

            It made him want to trust him.

            Which, _wow_ , dangerous territory, such dangerous, _damning_ territory.

            Worse still was how easy sliding into it would be.

            “What are you doing?” Sam asked more to derail his own thoughts than anything. It was quite obvious was Lucifer was doing, making his way in a loop around the tables in the library.

            “Self expression.”

            “At three A.M.?”

            “Twenty-four hours a day.”

            Sam pinched the bridge of his nose to hide his smirk. “You sound like Gabriel.”

            “Gabriel sounds like me,” he insisted, his steps bringing him right toward Sam as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Shut up,” Lucifer ordered, stepping in and pulling Sam into his arms. “Now come dance with me.”

            Sam gaped, floundering with the steps and movement. “What? Ohmygod, no. Dude, no. I don’t dance. And I’m a guy.”

            “You do dance. Quiet well, actually, thanks to a class while you were at Stanford.” He angled his head, eyes playing over Sam’s features. “It was an interesting form of anger management. I learned this from you, after all.”

            Lucifer closed his eyes again. Sam couldn’t argue with him, because despite saying he didn’t dance, he’d fallen into the steps with ease, letting Lucifer lead him around the floor. He was hyperly aware of the hand on his waist, the way they’d slotted together so easily and moved like partners that had been dancing together for years.

            People had to _learn_ their partners. You couldn’t just dance with someone; each person brought their own style to the movements, their personality. You had to learn each other, trust each other, or the dance didn’t flow and the pair couldn’t work. To do even this, Sam was having to submit, trusting and _allowing_ Lucifer to guide him. In class when he’d been forced to do this (a lesson about trust and his own need to be in control), it had always been a disaster, a battle for dominance. Even when he had finally managed to relent, the dances had never been fluid, certainly never graceful. They'd been rigid and stiff, mechanical.

            It had never been this. Effortless movement, the two of them gliding through the steps as though their feet weren’t even touching the floor. Sam knew he should pull away. He should stop. He needed to shove down the part inside of him glowing warm and bright, beat back the insane craving for more, the feeling like he was finally being given the light of the sun after going too long without it.

            He stayed, even moving so that their stances were a little closer, more intimate. His eyes studied Lucifer’s face for a reaction, but the angel didn’t give one, still humming to the melody. His smile was wider now, though.

            “Just this song,” Sam warned. "Once a new one comes on, this never happened.”

            Blue eyes opened and Lucifer’s soft smile widened as he released Sam out into a spin, before drawing him back in, their chests touching. Sam feared the angel would be able to feel the way his heart was hammering against his ribs.

            Grinning, Lucifer leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The song is on repeat.”

            Which, given Sam’s life, Sam should have known.

            He didn’t even fight it, just let Lucifer continue to guide him, a smile spreading across his own face as he took solace in the fact that no one's life would ever be as strange as his.

            He knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

\--

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	14. #14: Contradictions of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt asking for Claire's life after going to live with Jody.
> 
> She’d gone to Jody’s willingly, and, hell, maybe even with a little bit of optimism. She had no assumptions and really low expectations. But she went intending to stay.

Tumblr Prompt #13: Contradictions of Home

 

Takes place after Claire is dropped at Jody’s and completely ignores The Darkness. The Mark is gone, The End. No Darkness. Yay!

 

            Claire had been in homes. Foster homes. Group homes. Lots of them. Once, memorably, an orphanage. All different, yet one in their sameness: loneliness and misery thrived within their walls.

            She’d gone to Jody’s willingly, and, hell, maybe even with a little bit of optimism. She had no assumptions and really low expectations. But she went intending to stay.

            Her new home was a large farmhouse Jody had recently purchased. White-washed with a tin roof and wood floors that creaked, the sight of it was relaxing somehow. Warm. Inviting. Claire’s room was on the second floor, already decorated in simple country elegance and comfort, with a window overlooking a field of sunflowers and a red barn.

            She’d definitely had worse before.

            No sooner had she set down her bag than a head of dark hair leaned to peer into the room. Claire met her gaze, her chin lifting in challenge as she was sized up and assessed. The cool appraisal lasted only a moment, though, before a blur of uniform and blonde hair was pushing past and inside, talking a mile a minute. Claire panicked and back-pedaled into the nightstand before being overtaken in a bear hug. She was only saved as the sheriff pulled the other woman off.

            “Donna,” she sighed. “A little warning next time. She _just_ walked in the door.”

            “Ah, gee, look at my manners wouldja! Barely in tha door an’ already got folk comin’ at her right and left, eh? Well donchu’ worry none. We’re just so excited your here, don’t you let ol’ Jodie-o here fool you! Are ya hungry? We’ve got-”

            Jody gave a little tug on her coat collar. “What do you say we let her just, oh I don’t know, _unpack_ before we smother her and force feed her donuts and snickerdoodles, okay?”

            “Oh and I just took a batch from the oven!” she exclaimed.

            “Down, Donna. Let Claire come to you, okay? You’ll scare her,” insisted the sheriff, tone flat, but not unkind as she herded the woman out of the room and back downstairs. She paused long enough to glance at Claire and offer, “You’ll get use to her.”

            In the silence that followed, Claire and Alex turned to face each other. Claire pointed toward the hall, raising a brow. Folding her arms and tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, Alex shrugged with a feigned air of disinterest.

            “That was Donna. This use to be her room, but she recently moved into Jody’s.”

            A snort escaped Claire, somewhere between disgusted and disbelief, as she turned to yank hard on the zipper to her duffel bag.

            “Great. I go from two guys trying to be my dads, to two wanna-be moms.”

            “Hey,” Alex said, a little sharp, though not loud. Claire turned to see an entirely new girl standing there. Her entire demeanor had shifted. There was something in her eyes, something that had morphed into a creature cold and violent and jagged. “Jody’s a widow who lost her son and husband- _twice_. Donna is a divorcee with a _dick_ of an ex, and while you may not have been looking for two _awesome_ fucking moms to take you in, two moms is what you _got_. **Sheriff** moms. And-”

            Shaking her head, Claire held up a hand, “No, no, that’s not...” Alex paused, waited impatiently. “That’s not what I meant. I...”

            Claire didn’t want to talk about it. The idea seemed too monumental and exhausting, she felt tired just thinking about it, much less figuring out some way to say it all outloud. She didn’t want to tell this stranger her messed up back story. Didn’t want to admit that she’d really wanted for Cas and Dean and Sam to ask her to stay with them in the bunker.

            How did she find the words? To say what she meant without saying more than she needed? Without opening herself raw to someone who couldn’t appreciate the gesture?

            “I don’t need new parents,” was all she could say.

            She didn’t say she’d had parents. That she’d almost had a new set of parents she’d really wanted to stay with. She didn’t say how close she’d come to having a family, only for them to ask her to stay with someone else.

            Alex contemplated this for a moment, gaze not quite looking at Claire anymore, but into her. Claire found herself holding her breath and shifting awkwardly, unsure if she’d screwed things up in the thirty minutes since walking through the door.

            “I can appreciate that,” Alex allowed. Claire sagged with relief. The other girl continued, voice heavy with meaning, “But know that ‘new’ doesn’t mean replacing or forgetting the people of our pasts.” She turned on her heel. “Welcome home, Claire. Prepare for curfew, chore lists, strict rules, no back-talking, and mandatory game nights. Breakfast is a requirement and dinner’s at seven. See ya around.”

 

 

            Truth be told: it wasn’t bad, it was great, actually, though Claire would never admit it. Still, there were part of her that was homesick. Not for the life with her parents in Pontiac, Illinois, but for a life with a family she’d never had.

            As awkward and weird an arrangement as it was, this new life still worked.

            She went to school with Alex, which meant regular trouble and fist-fights. But at least now Claire had somebody throwing punches right along side her. Then afterward, a companion as they shared secret smiles while waiting in the office for Jody or Donna to come speak with the principal.

            There were regular chores and meals and _expectations_ of her.

            There was someone there when Claire- or Alex- woke up scared (and sometimes screaming) in the middle of the night., often ending in all four of them piled together in Jody and Donna’s bed.

            They fell into a rhythm, and Claire was (secretly) _kind_ of happy. For the first time in a _very_ long time. Which was when things got more complicated.

            After breakfast one morning, Jody slid a cup of coffee across the table to her, before saying as gently as she could, “Dean and Castiel are gonna be in town over night and want to know if they can take you out to dinner and spend some time with you.”

            Claire spat out her coffee. Right onto Jody.

            The Sheriff dabbed at her face with a napkin in as dignified a manner as one could while Claire babbled and scrambled for a dishcloth.

            “You can say ‘no’, Claire.”

            That stopped her cold, hand freezing over the cloth she was reaching for as the words hit her. She looked back to where Jody was sat at the table.

            “You don’t have to see them if you don’t want. Or, you don’t have to see them on your own. Tell me what _you_ want and that is what will happen.”

            She said it so serious, voice pitched warm and low, eyes locked on Claire’s. Like it mattered. Like what made Claire feel secure and safe _mattered_.

            “Okay.” Jody waited, brow arching finely. Claire elaborated, “To dinner. I’ll go spend time with them- or whatever. Castiel is probably being overly protective again since he thinks-”

            “Claire. Cas and Dean call me on an almost daily basis to check on you and make sure you’re okay.” She tilted her head in that way she did when she wanted to make sure you were understanding the full extent of what she was saying. “ _This_ is because they want to spend time with you.”

            Claire had to look out the window until her eyes stopped stinging and her throat unclenched.

 

 

The car ride to dinner was awkward as hell.

            Dean’s hands gripped the wheel too tight. Castiel tried to make conversation, asking questions that were so generic and stilted Claire had to bite her lip realizing he’d _practiced_ what to say to her and what to ask. Because he was nervous.

            She looked at Dean’s white knuckled hands on the wheel, the way he kept swallowing and not looking at Castiel anymore than he was looking at her. That the tension wasn’t just them with her, but them with each other as well, as though something had happened they were both carefully not talking about.

            She didn’t ask.

            They parked in front of an Italian restaurant and got out, Claire looking up at the building. It was a charming and none of them were dressed appropriately for it. It was too stiff, too formal. They were trying too hard.

            With a roll of her eyes, she jerked her head toward the sidewalk.

            “Dude, no. We’re going to The Grill for messy burgers and grease-soaked fries Forget this.”

            She kept her face neutral and unsmiling as they both sagged with relief, releasing breaths that had been held too long. She was pretty sure she wasn’t meant to hear the “Oh thank God” Dean sighed.

            Cas looked at her. “We’ll do anything you want, Claire.,” he told her. “You decide.”

            She nodded. “Burgers, fries, and then I’m gonna teach you how to play putt-putt.”

            “Teach _us_?” Dean demanded. “No, no, no. See, last time? _I_ taught _you_ how to play.”

            “Senile already, Dean? You’re memory is failing you. I won by a mile. It was _embarrassing_ for you.”

            “You wanna go? Because we can go. Right now. Forget the burgers.”

            “Oh no,” she said, “we are getting burgers. We can just eat while we play, but you are both going to get trounced.” Her head swung around to Castiel. “Cas? You game?”

            He blinked several times, glancing between them with a furrowed brow. Then, his face smoothed out and he smiled, making something unclench within her.

            “That sounds like fun.”

            And it was fun, Dean and Claire bantering back and forth, Cas smiling fondly and being quietly smug as he got a hole-in-one on nearly every play, forcing Claire and Dean to join forces to try and outscore him.

            Afterward, they left the car where it is and walked Claire home instead, the three of them eating bags of popcorn and talking easily as they passed shop windows in the soft glow of lamp lights.

            They stopped at the picket fence gate to Jody’s, and it didn’t miss Claire’s notice that there were three sets of eyes peeking through the blinds at them.

            Cas and Dean were both suddenly stiff and awkward again, unsure. She hugged Cas first, nearly sighing with relief as his arms enveloped her. Hugging him felt like coming home and knowing you were where you were meant to be. Despite all her reasons to resent him, she’d somehow come to love the angel instead.

            “I would like to do this again,” Cas told her after. She watched as he swallowed and shifted on his feet. “If you that’s okay with you, and doesn’t interfere with your schooling. Maybe we could do this regularly?”

            She dipped her chin. “Yeah, okay. We could do that.”

            The way his face lit up would a memory Claire would treasure in her heart forever. Horde and guard it jealously.

            After she hugged Dean, he kept a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye- the same way Jody did when she was trying to make sure Claire understood the depth of what she was saying.

            “You need anything- you call, you hear? Big or small, we’re on the other end of the phone.” When she nodded, he let his hand fall away, sliding them into his pockets. “How’s Jody’s? You good?”

            Cas had moved closer to stand beside him. She let her eyes play over both of them, warmth spreading through her as she smiled.

            “I’m good.”

            For the first time in years, it was the truth. She was good. She was happy. She had more than a family; she had two. Two families that loved her unconditionally.

            She smiled wide. “I’m better than good.”

\--

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	15. Prompt #15: Witness Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets a visitor in Heaven.

            There wasn’t anything that drew Nick’s attention to his visitor, other than perhaps the feeling of eyes observing him. He’d been alone in the living room, and then suddenly not.

            He turned. Another him was standing near the front door, letting his gaze roam around in mild curiosity.

            Nick frowned, taking the translucent figure. “Lucifer?”

            The other him slid his gaze from the child’s toy bucket in the corner.

            “Hello, Nick.” His form shivered and flickered, then stabilized. “How are you?”

            He huffed a laugh. “Being visited by Satan in Heaven, apparently. Unless you took me in the other direction instead.”

            The fallen angel shook his head. “You would _know_ if you were in Hell.”

            Nick’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I would. I was there... before you saved me.” He studied the other man as his appearance wavered again. “How are _you_? What are you doing here? How?”

            “This is a projection. I am not in Heaven.”

            “I didn’t think so, not without fanfare or the A-Team kicking in the door to stop you.”

            “Lucifer looked away, out the window. “All the angels of Heaven could not have stopped me had I decided to show up in person.”

            Frowning in confusion, Nick opened his mouth, then closed it, before snorting a laugh. “No. _Different_ A-Team.”

            “Ah.” He glanced back at Nick, the barest smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “Someone I know mockingly calls them ‘The God-squad.’ The intended disrespect amuses me, even if I fail to understand the reference.”

            Nick chuckled again. “They’re calling angels God’s brainless hired muscle, called in to beat people up.”

            “He’s calling us bullies.”

            “He’s calling you bullies,” Nick nodded.

            The angel’s gaze drifted. “He would be right, then. We are. That, or they’re too sheep-like to think for themselves.”

            Silence settled heavily, Nick studying the other man, whose visit seemed to have no real purpose, no agenda this time.

            “You lost your battle, didn’t you?” The quiet question echoed in the stillness between them.

            Nick had never been a very religious person, but he knew enough of it to know Lucifer getting free had meant one final showdown with Michael- with Earth hanging in the balance.

            “I lost my battle,” he affirmed.

            Nick moved around to catch his eye. “You don’t seem too upset.”

            “I’m not.”

            “What happened?”

            Sucking in a long breath through his nose, Lucifer released it in a huffed sigh. “I held back.”

            Nick blinked in surprise. _“Why_?”

            “Because... because I was hoping for a brother that would fight for me the way that the Winchesters fought for each other.”

            “I don’t know who that is,” Nick said, and Lucifer smiled at him.

            “They call us ‘The God-squad.’”

            Nick leaned back against the couch, folding his arms. “I see. So Michael won? Why am I not being punished for letting you use me as a vessel?”

            “Probably because the other angels are too scared of my reaction were they to punish someone I helped and saved.” He gave a one-sided shrug. “And Michael didn’t ‘win,’ either- though I am currently the victim of that wrath for which the sin was so aptly named.” At Nick’s expression, Lucifer elaborated. “Seven is an important number in the Bible. Seven archangels, seven scrolls and seals of the Apocalypse, seven deadly sins. The Seven Deadly Sins are called that not because they are demons, but because they are each a major character flaw in one of the archangels.” He gestured to himself. “I am Pride. Michael is Wrath. Those sins started with us.”

            “But if you both somehow lost... what does that mean?”

            “It means we are trapped in the Cage together. Sam Winchester, my current vessel, his soul is trapped with me, and while I am shielding him as much as I am able...” He shook his head with a scowl. “Michael’s always been stronger, and I’m afraid Sam’s suffering is great, even though I’m taking the brunt of it.”

            “So why are you here? Rather than focusing on fighting back?”

            “I _am_ fighting back,” Lucifer snapped, eyes flashing. The temperature plummeted several degrees, before his posture softened. “But I cannot fight offensively and defensively at the same time. If I drop my guard and attack at full strength, I leave Sam completely exposed; Michael would obliterate him like that.”

            “So what _can_ you do?”

            Lucifer sighed. “Buy him time until either Castiel or Dean attempt a second rescue. Dean will not just leave his brother in Hell, regardless of what promise he made. Maybe if they attempt it together this time than can retrieve Sam’s soul. Pulling souls from the Cage is far more difficult than raising them from perdition. Castiel was arrogant to believe otherwise.”

            “So why are you here?” Nick asked again.

            “Because I needed the reminder,” Lucifer said. “Needed the reminder that I did right by at least _one_ person in this asinine battle of mine and Michael’s.”

            Nick swept his gaze to the ceiling, knowing that in a room decorated in soft pastels, his wife and child were sleeping soundly through an afternoon nap.

            He lowered is eyes, meeting Lucifer’s again.

            “You did right by me- and by them, so I’d say that’s _three_ people you did okay with.” He jerked his chin at the angel. “Now get back to kicking Michael’s ass _while_ protecting Sam, and that’ll be four people you did your best by.”

            Lucifer shook his head. “I’m certain the Winchesters will disagree.” His mouth curled at the corner. “Thank you, Nick.”

            He gave the angel a solemn nod, watching as he faded from view. Nick silently willed him the strength he would need, the fortitude, the cleverness.

            When Nick’s world had been decimated, the only angel that cared enough to fix it _had_. That deserved something in return, some recognition from on high.

            “Good luck,” he whispered after him, before turning to go upstairs and to his family.


	16. This is Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas marvels at Dean and Sam's unusual Halloween tradition. If 'marvels' means he's finally had enough and snaps.

** Post S8, human!Cas, no S9. **

 

            Even though he hadn’t been able to experience all the seasons as a human yet, Castiel thought Fall might be his favorite.

            He liked the way the crisp air and chill breeze bit at his cheeks and ears. He found the weight and warmth of a sturdy coat comforting. Liked the soft scarf layered around his neck. He enjoyed the cozy comfort of too-large knit sweaters and thick socks keeping him warm.

            With Fall came the celebration of the season. Even in such a small town like Lebanon, shop windows and the town square were a cascade of autumnal colors, giving new life and energy to the 20th century architecture. It made him go on longer runs, take more frequent walks, just trying to drink it all in.

            Which was why it puzzled him so much that neither Winchester seemed to even notice the change, nor even the approach of Halloween. Aside from the subtle change in attire, of flannel sleeves no longer rolled up and the occasional collared sweater, nothing seemed to change.

            Well, Dean brought home a stack of pies one day (apple, pumpkin, and pecan), but that seemed to be the only indication of acknowledgement. Neither of them looked out the car window to marvel at the colorful tapestry of leaves beyond the glass. They didn’t take in a breath just the savor the tingle of it on their tongue.

            Cas wanted to experience it, to indulge in the tastes and smells that saturated the celebration of Autumn and Halloween. Being newly human and, more importantly, the newest resident of the Men of Letters bunker, Cas tried to learn as much as he could just by silently watching, observing how Sam and Dean reacted to and approached things. They were his examples, the leads he followed.

            Their _lack_ of reaction irritated him.

            Days passed, and he grew impatient with their utter failure to notice the beauty and marvel around them. They took no joy in it. Saw, but didn’t _see_.

            Halloween morning was the breaking point.

            Still bleary-eyed, Castiel glowered at his coffee, the irritation crawling under his skin reaching a boiling point that Halloween- _Halloween_ \- had arrived at the Winchesters’ door without any fanfare. The day that celebrated the monsters still believed to be myth and make-believe- in no small part due to Sam and Dean’s efforts. That feat _deserved_ acknowledgment.

            “Alright!” Dean crowed, his grin stretching from ear-to-ear as he entered the kitchen rubbing his hands together. “October thirty-first! Time for a day off of work and Winchester tradition! Ready, Sam?”

            Leaning against the counter, Sam grinned into his orange juice. “Yeah, but after my run.”

            Cas sagged against the table in relief, because _finally._

            “You okay, Cas?” Dean questioned.

            He straightened, morphing his expression into attentive interest. “Yes, Dean. Absolutely. What is this Halloween tradition?”

            “Well, after Sam- and you, if you’re going- get back from running, it’s marathon time! First, we’ve got _Firefly_ and _Serenity_ , then _Battlestar Galactica_!”

            The smile on Cas’ face inverted to a frown, his earlier scowl returning with force. “Those are sci-fi television shows.”

            “Yeah.”

            “How is that tradition?”

            The brothers glanced at each other, and Sam shrugged. “Well, it’s our tradition. It was _Star Wars_ last year.”

            “But it’s _Halloween_ ,” Cas reiterated. “ _Not_ the first Friday of _May_.” It came out more an irritated snap than he intended.

            Sam huffed a laugh, and at Dean’s expression offered, “National Space Day.”

            Dean scoffed, waving dismissively. “Whatever, man. We do monsters everyday. And aside from that one exception of Samhain that year, monsters and demons actually have the day off as well. Only work they do is making soul contracts with new witches, and dude, we can’t police free will of humans. So, instead: _starships_.”

            “No.”

            Castiel didn’t realized the growled syllable had come out of his mouth until the boys both looked at him, their brows raised. He didn’t remember pushing to his feet, hands planted on the kitchen table, but apparently he had, because he could distantly hear himself still saying that word.

            “No. No, no, no, no, _no_!”

            The brothers shared a glance. Dean asked, “No?”

            “ _No_.” Cas scrubbed his hand over his face, looking around for help, and only finding evidence of the wrongness of their situation. “I-it’s Fall! It’s _Halloween_! This, it should be- _you_ should be celebrating, or even just acknowledging it! How can you not even notice? And starships? _On Halloween_? You know, I kept waiting. Hanging back, trying to follow your leads on how this was to be handled, but you aren’t even doing it properly!”

            “Properly?”

            “Yes! Properly! Like everybody else seems to be doing! The entire _town_ is decorated for Autumn, with wreathes and pumpkins a-and blocks of _hay_ \- for reasons I can’t fathom, but they are _celebrating_ the change in season. The trees are a riot of colors, and neither of you so much as notice!”

            “What _I_ notice about this time of year is that _graves_ start getting a lot harder to dig up,” Dean scoffed, and Sam nodded his agreement.

            “Then you are focusing on the wrong things! We should be... I don’t know! Taking walks and drinking cider and making homemade soup!” He slapped a hand to the table top. “Apples! _There should be apples_!”

            “Apples?”

            Cas’ breathing was harsh as he continued. “I need apples! A-and _starships_? Really? The world- for the most part- still believes itself to be safe from monsters and you watch _sci-fi movies_? You _saved_ the _world_! I get you don’t want to watch movies that are basically bad documentaries of your day jobs, but surely there are entertaining ones _out there_ , you know, if you took two seconds to _look!_ Or we could do something else!”

            “Like what?”

            “Like whatever normal families do!”

            “This _is_ what our family does,” snapped Dean.

            Cas held up a hand, tone softening, “Or... or we could try something new. Hm? That is what you and your brother have done for years, but your ‘family’ is not the same this year as it was last. There’s me, for one. And Charlie. And Kevin, if we can coax him out of his room at more normal hours. Maybe we try something new this year.” His eyes darted back and forth as he poured over the information he’d gleaned about the traditions of this time of year. “We could.... uh, have a _bonfire_.”

            Sam glanced at Dean, brow arched. “Dude, have we ever even had a bonfire where we weren’t burning a body?”

            “All the more reason to have one where you associate it with something fun and enjoyable,” Castiel insisted. Dean watched him, dubious, but clearly thinking. “We could have a bonfire and roast... _things-_ I don’t know what- over it. W-we could play board games and cook a-and _enjoy_ the day rather than pretending it isn’t happening! Enjoy life while we’re still here to live it!”

            Silence fell heavy in the room, save for the sound of Cas’ still harsh breathing, his words finally run out. In that moment, Cas wished desperately he’d been able to hold back the truth, reign in it and learn how to stuff it down like they seemed to do so easily. His eyes were glued to Dean, studying to contours of his face for anything it might give away, any clue as to what his next words would need to be to fix this.

            Sam met his brother’s eye, angling his head with a shrug and a frown. Cas couldn’t tell if it meant ‘He’s got a point’ or ‘Dude, he’s your problem. I’m not dealing with it’, but he really hoped it was the former.

            Pursing his lips, Dean lifted his hands. “Alright, fine. Sam, we’re gonna need wood if we’re gonna have a bonfire. I’ll call Charlie and head into town for a supply run, I guess. Cas, you go bribe Kevin to come out of his cave for the day- and make sure the kid gets a bath and change of clothes.” Their eyes met, and Cas’ heart skipped a beat when Dean finally gave him a smile. “Looks like we’re starting a new tradition.”

 

            Later, once Kevin had been pried from his room and coerced into participation, once Cas had finished helping Sam with the wood and building a fire pit, Cas made his way through the bunker, energy and excitement buzzing through his veins. There was practically a skip in his step. He faltered as he entered the kitchen, doing a double-take that made him bite his lip and smile.

            There on the kitchen table was a glass bowl of shiny, red apples.

            He hadn’t experienced the other seasons as a human yet, but he knew without a doubt, Autumn would _always_ be his favorite.

 

\--

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	17. Angels of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Gabriel and Lucifer wake everyone up at 3 A.M. playing music. Link to the music file included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music that Gabriel and Lucifer are playing is something by ThePianoGuys over on YouTube, actually. You can listen to it or watch the [music video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Dakd7EIgBE), though it may be better just to listen- for fic purposes.

            It had been more than a week since Lucifer was let out of the Cage, this time by the same people who had put him in it. No one questioned that Lucifer was back to wearing the face of Nick, either. This time he knew the vessel would not wear out or break down. It was not Nick, but a body fashioned specifically for Lucifer to use- the only sign he’d gotten from his father that He condoned this crazy plan of releasing Lucifer to once again battle the Darkness.

            That, plus the return of Gabriel, seemed to be the only involvement God was going to have in this, as if finally washing his hands of it all. The ultimate free will: the world would become what they let it. Their damnation or salvation was entirely in their hands.

            It had been more than a week and the Darkness had fallen silent, her rapid growth stilled for the moment as she recoiled and reassessed the new threat of having two of God’s archangels ready to face her again.

            It was probably the only reason Dean and Sam allowed them into their safe haven, despite their clear unease around him. It was a wonder they actually retired to bed at all that first night, even after they’d watched both angels adding extra protectives to the bunker and each of their rooms.

            Then, there had only been silence and waiting for dawn. Curiosity made Lucifer get up and wander the halls, peeking in rooms and opening doors, learning a little about the bunkers occupants and their predecessors with each new discovery.

            He wandered until he found the room that seemed untouched, as if waiting for him to discover it. His breath caught as the door swung inward and he beheld the piano inside.

            He was at the instrument before he realized it, drawn like a moth to a flame. How could he not? He was the Angel of Music, and he had lived in darkness and silence for what seemed like time unending, suffocating without the element he needed like humans needed air in their lungs.

            The moment his fingers touched the keys, he coaxed a few notes free, before settling down on the bench and truly beginning to play. He played snatches of pieces from throughout history, the knowledge tucked away safe in the back of his mind, and now finally released for the first time.

            He wasn’t surprised when he saw movement in his peripheral and found Gabriel, a small, knowing smile gracing his features as he pulled up a seat. A cello appeared in his hands a moment later. Lucifer’s fingers had paused over the keys, his eyes locking with Gabriel’s, who quirked an eyebrow. Like he’d done so many times before.

            With wordless communication, they started playing, something Lucifer had never heard, but seemed to fit them both perfectly, and fit the moment. Without conscious effort, he added more layers of cello and piano to the sound, the music building and the two of them utterly lost in the fun of it, grinning at each other and relishing in something they hadn’t done together since before the Fall, something they thought they’d never get to do again. They played with abandon and both of them could hear as all of Heaven went silent, a hush falling over all angels as they listened to the Angel of Music and the Angel of Praise play together again for the first time in thousands of years.

            Tentatively, voices from the Choir of Heaven added vocals, harmonizing and blending with the crescendo of music and instruments, making Gabriel throw his head back on a soundless laugh of joy.

            Maybe it was another miracle, and it left Lucifer torn between wanting to cry and needing to laugh.

            When they finished and the last notes of music die out, Lucifer and Gabriel were grinning at each other. Both of them were only a moment from crashing into the other- in the overdue embrace of brothers separated for too long- when the silence is broken by someone else.

            “Whoa.”

            They turned sharply to find Dean, Sam, and Castiel standing slack-jawed in the doorway, pulled from their beds by music and curiosity. Lucifer noted it was the first time any of them looked on him in awe and wonderment. He relished the feel of it, but bit his lip and let his gaze slid away, oddly embarrassed at having been caught in such an honest moment. It made him feel exposed.

            Sam began to applaud first, quickly picked up by the other two, making the angels look at them in surprise again. Nothing was said, but Sam smiled when he met his gaze, offering Lucifer the slightest incline of his head.

            That felt like a miracle, too. Maybe God hadn’t abandoned them, after all, because he was starting to have what suspiciously felt like hope. A laugh bubbled from his throat at that, and he could only shake his head and reach out to hug his brother, grateful for second chances and the knowledge that things would turn out differently this time.

 


	18. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to the dentist. The medicine makes him a little loopy. Crack!humor

The nurse had warned them that Dean would heavily medicated, which was why Sam had had to come with him to the dentist, so someone could drive him back to the bunker. Cas has come because not being able to heal Dean’s shattered teeth left him feeling impotent, and having to rely on another human to heal Dean only made him anxious- not that he would admit to that. If asked, Cas would shrug and say it was because there was nothing else he needed to be doing, so why not keep Sam company?  
  
Castiel had picked up more than mannerisms and turn of phrase from the Winchesters.  
  
Drunk Dean was depressing, pathetically honest and carrying more weight than Sam could bear to see. Drugged Dean… Sam had only seen him dosed twice, actually, both times with tranquilizers. The result was expected. But Sam had never seen Dean high before, and was both excited and worried what that might look like. He didn’t want to spend the entire car ride consoling Dean on his every perceived failure, and he wasn’t quiet sure if he had the mental faculty to even handle Dean if his brother was anything like Sam was when medicated. Happy, giggling Dean was evidence of a body snatcher or a serious case of denial, not drugs.  
  
Maybe he should have insisted Cas stay at the bunker and wait for them, though Dean hadn’t said a word of argument about it earlier. It’s too late now, he thought, following the nurse to the back where Dean was, ready for pick-up.  
  
“There was an issue at one point, where the sound of the drill upset him. We had to give him extra sedatives as that point. He seemed to be relating it to military service?” she questioned, glancing over her shoulder at Sam. “He mentioned Alistair. Was he a P.O.W?”  
  
“Yes. It’s complicated. Is he okay?”  
  
“Oh yes, he’s fine. Probably won’t remember it at all. He’s been regaling us all with his charming personality, claims all the nurses are angels.” Her voice dropped as she attempted to mimic him, “Like real angels that you see churches and paintings, the kind that are pretty and nice and made of light. Like Cas!” She laughed lightly and waved a hand, not noticing the way Cas ducked his head and bit back a smile. “He’s very talkative and rambly right now, but you’ll want to get him home and in bed soon, because it’ll wear off and all he’ll do is sleep.”  
  
She ushered them into the room where Dean was talking in animated slurring to the amused nurse until he caught sight of them in the doorway. Sam wished he had a camera to capture the way his brother’s whole face lit up like a five year old’s at Christmas.  
  
“Heeeyy! You’re heerree!”  
  
“Whoa, easy, Dean, don’t move too fast. You’re gonna be dizzy,” the nurse warned as he staggered to his feet.  
  
Dean paid her no heed, taking the few steps to his brother. “It’s Sammy! And Cas! I missed you!”  
  
Snorting, Sam returned his brother’s drunken hug. “We were just in the waiting room, Dean. Are you ready to go?”  
  
“Stacy. Hey, Stacy,” Dean said, turning back to the nurse as one hand clutched awkwardly at the front of Cas’ coat, an arm going around the other man’s shoulders. “This is my baby brother, Sammy, and this my angel, Cas, the one I was telling you about! He finally gets to live with us. We live together. Sam’s my brother. Isn’t he great?”  
  
Her smile wobbled as she inclined her head to Sam, who felt his whole face go red in embarrassment. “He seems very nice, Dean.”  
  
Beaming, Dean’s head swiveled around so that his unfocused eyes could take them both in. “Yeah. He’s awesome.” He looked back at her, patting a hand to the center of Castiel’s chest. “They’re my favorite people. Whole planet: these two? They’re the best.” He blinked with a start, then grabbed the front of Cas’ coat in boat hands, their noses almost touching. “Oh heeyyy! You know what? You know what? You should date me.” The nurse covered her mouth on a laugh, Sam’s eyes widening in shock. Cas blinked rapidly in surprise, whole body stiff as Dean continued, “Like, you live with us now and don’t have to leave, you know? Or wait, no, you shouldn’t date me. I’m a terrible person, and you’re you! And God, you’re great and so very pretty, especially up close like this, but I would really like to date you.”  
  
Dean’s gaze slid to the side, whole body lurching toward Sam and away from Castiel. “Sam. Sammy. I’m tired. Can I lie down now?”  
  
Sliding an arm around his brother, Sam nodded. “Yeah, dude. Got the Impala pulled up out front and the backseat’s all ready for you. You can take a nap on the way home.”  
  
Castiel followed along behind them, frown creasing his brow as he studied the way Dean was leaning heavily on his brother, talking about how nice all the nurses were and how he didn’t feel any pain at all, making Sam laugh again as he opened the backseat and helped Dean crawl inside.  
  
Sam actually thought Dean had gone straight to sleep until his brother called out in a voice even more slurred than before, “Hey, Sammy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I think I wanna ask out Cas.”  
  
Sam slid a glance at the former angel in the passenger seat, face encompassed in a blush, then glanced at his brother in the rearview. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Then I think you should definitely do that. I’ll remind you to tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“Best. Brother. Ever.”  
  
Soft snores informed them the drugs had finally set in, then, making Castiel look at Sam. “You know he’s going to kill us both in our sleep now.”  
  
Sam grinned at him. “If it means you two finally get together? Totally worth it.”


	19. Lessons in parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelsnotfeelings asked for something "gross and fluffy"- gross in a disgustingly cute way. I present Dean and Cas being dads to Claire and helping her prepare for a bake sale- as all good parents do.

“It says to mix milk and butter in a saucepan,” Claire read aloud, wooden spoon in hand. Her other she scrubbed on her apron trying to get excess honey and flour off. “Dean, would you-”

“On it.”

“Thanks.” She cast a glance over at Castiel who was waiting patiently for instruction. He was fully responsible for the honey/flour fiasco from earlier. She was gonna need wash her hair twice to get it all out. “Okay, Cas,  we need to stir in three eggs while Dean does that. I’ll get the confectionate sugar.”

Moving to retrieve the bag from the island, she turned in time to see Castiel plop the whole eggs into the batter and begin stirring. She dropped the sugar in horror.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?!” she exclaimed, rushing over. “Stop! Dad, stop! You can’t-” She looked to Dean for help, who was maintaining a carefully neutral expression. “Dean, tell him he can’t just drop whole eggs into a recipe.” She carefully picked each of the eggs out, and all the pieces of the one Cas had broken with his stirring. “You have to crack them and dump the _insides_ into the bowl and _discard_ the shells.”

Castiel was exchanging awkward and worried glances with Dean when she looked at him. She offered out the last egg.

“You wanna try cracking this one yourself?”

He accepted it gingerly. “I’m not sure-“

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve got a dozen more if you break it wrong. Give it a shot. I’ll teach you to make scrambled eggs in the morning.”

In his distraction of watching Castiel crack an egg with pain stacking deliberance, the pan on the stove had begun to boil, causing the blonde teen’s eyes to widen, her arm flailing.

“ _Dean_!”

He scrambled to get it off the burner. “Whoops! Sorry! Sorry!” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It can cool back off to ‘warm’ and it’ll be fine right?”

She dropped her face to her hand with a groan, before raking it over her hair. She sneered as it stuck and clung, sticky residue probably leaving batter all in her hair. Make that _three_ good scrubs.

“This bake sale is going to be a disaster,” she declared, grabbing a metal bowl to examine the state of her hair in. “I swear, you two are the worst fundraiser dads ever.” Pausing, she threw Dean a  desperate look, not noticing the shock and then warmth to spread across both their faces. “You will still be there, right? To help with the bake sale?”

Stirring his saucepan, Dean met Castiel’s eye across the kitchen. “Of course. What kind of parents would we be otherwise?”


	20. Meeting at a party while drunk AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU where Sam and Lucifer meet while drunk at a party.

“This human is mine,” Lucifer declared for the room to hear, one arm slung around the man beside him. “This one was made for me.” His words were only slightly slurred.

Bowing his head, Sam snicked drunkenly and let himself be spun in a circle to be presented to the room.

Leave it to Dean to be a downer on the whole thing, since he was the only one remotely sober there, and Sam’s designated driver. “What are you doing?” he cast a glance at Lucifer, who was going back and forth with one of the others. A brother, Sam thought. “All the people to get drunkenly chummy with, he’s kind of a _last_ option, Sam.”

Grinning toothily, Sam swung his head around to regard his companion. “Leave off, Dean. He’s an angel.”

“He’s ready to fight the whole room, dude! Including his brother!”

As if to prove his point, Lucifer moved forward, dragging Sam with him, and yelling, “You wanna fucking go, Michael? I will kick your ass right now. God himself made this man for me and I will fight anyone who says otherwise or tries to take him from me. Who’s first?”

The younger Winchester just laughed and staggered into him, mouth somehow finding the other man’s to make him be quiet.


	21. Human/Ghost AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas in a human/ghost AU

“You ought to be more careful.”

Dean lowered the book to look at the man sitting in the red arm chair adjacent him.

“How do you figure?”

Castiel motioned to the piled of pillows Dean’s braced and bandaged leg was propped up on, then to the crutches neatly laid beside the worn couch.

“If you took up a less dangerous profession-”

Dean lifted the book again. “I am not taking life advice from a dead guy.”

“Death makes me understand how fragile life is, Dean. You are my only friend. I would give anything to be alive in the room with you right now. What would i do if something happened to you? I can’t imagine.”

“Don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you continue to be so reckless-”

Lowering the book again, Dean shot him a cross look. “Do you want me to stop reading this aloud? I will, and with your total incorporealness, you will never find out what happens with Simon and Baz.”

Eyes narrowing, Castiel said nothing, and Dean hid his grin behind the book as he continued to read.


	22. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lucifer: Masquerade ball prompt

Prompt: “Meeting at a masquerade ball” –your kinks and mine are the same, dear. unf.

–

The extravagance of the ball said more about the owner of the manor than anything his file did. Everywhere there was wealth and elegance and a delight upon the senses that had Sam feeling as though he’d stepped into another world.

Suspicious, he raised his glass of champagne, peering at the amber gold and the bubbles rising like fireworks inside. Surely it wasn’t laced with anything, was it?

He was feeling heady already, maybe it was something in the air. The air was thick with roses and clean musk, a tingle passing through him like lightning after a storm.

He lowered the glass again, and blinked in surprise to see a man standing there, an amused smirk on his lips.

“You are entirely too fetching to be standing alone,” he offered in lieu of greeting. “And deserve much better entertainment than the contents of a glass.” He offered out a black gloved hand. “Please. Dance with me.”

Flustered, Sam cast a quick glance to make certain the man wasn’t talking to someone, like, right over Sam’s shoulder. He was glad the white mask he wore covered nearly half his face, and at least partially obscured his blush.

The man was his complete contrast, all black sensuousness and elegance that had Sam wanting to know what the satin of his jacket would feel like under Sam’s hands, the silk of his cravat. He was captivated by the sensual mouth, with it’s shadow of a smirk, and the inviting way his lips formed the words, “It’s for your decide. You need only say ‘yes’.”

Setting aside his champagne, Sam extended his hand and placed it in the stranger’s. “Yes.”


	23. Boyfriend material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's it made out of?"  
> "Boyfriend material."

  **FIC PROOMPPPTTT: Dean/Cas "This shirt is made from boyfriend material!" Cheesy, I know, but never ending fun.**

\--

“What about this one?“ questioned Castiel, holding up the second-hand suit.

Dean glanced over from where he was perusing the dress shirts, a selection of ties already draped over his arm. Looking up from his rack of casual clothes, Sam considered the suit as well.

“It’s easier to tell if you try it on,” Dean advised him. “What’s it made out of?”

“Boyfriend material,” stated Sam casually, before returning to flicking through plaid shirts.

Dean did a double-take, while Cas frowned in confusion, folding the suit over one arm to try on.

Sam continued to peruse the shirts, brows knit. “Cas, do you have a color preference, because I think I’ve accidentally started shopping for me.” He moved around to hold his choice selections for the former angel to see. “What do you think? The red’s for me, but the others seem more like your colors.”

Gaze drifting over the shirts, Cas echoed Dean’s earlier words. “What are they made out of?”

The question help some importance, even though whatever answer Sam gave held no relevance to him yet. He would learn, one article of clothing at a time.

“Boyfriend material, same as the others,“ Sam said with a dismissive head shake.

“That’s what I _thought_ you said,” Dean began.

“It’s sturdy material,” Sam explained to Cas, who still looked confused. “Will last forever.” He paused to frown at his brother. “Hey Dean, isn’t your shirt made out of the same material? Funny that. Okay, well, here, you take these, and I’m gonna go try these on,” he said, unloading his arms on Dean, and slipping past them with shirts of his own. “Lemme know what you decide on,” he called over his shoulder, leaving his brother there looking both mortified and like a deer in headlights.

Cas’ gaze drifted to Dean, one brow arching. “Boyfriend material?”

Dean could only splutter and blush.

–

 **Note** : Please reblog and share with others, and also don’t forget to tag or comment! Happy Tuesday!

 **Note 2** : I got this yesterday, but only just had the chance to answer it. Funnily enough, my mother and I went shopping at Costco, and I realized that is something we both ask regarding every piece of clothing we picked up. I don’t think this is maybe such a thing with men’s clothing?? But it was a deciding issue in quiet a few things for us. “What’s it made of?”


	24. Cas knows nothing of personal boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: "Hi there, I have a prompt I'm wondering if could bring to life? We all know Cas does not respect boundaries, as we saw in Hunteri Heroeci when he was going through Dean's bags. Can you write a short fic where Dean discovers that Cas has looked through his phone, slept in his bed, done his laundry, etc? I don't know whether I'm being specific enough. Thanks :) "
> 
> In which, Cas knows nothing of personal boundaries, angst and loneliness ensue, and hard truths are discovered.

—

Post Amara problem and Lucifer possession.

–

If asked, Castiel could actually tell you when it started. The ‘why’ of it was harder. But he could definitely answer ‘when’. He didn’t get asked ‘when’, though. He got asked ‘why’.

He struggled to find the words to make his actions make sense when viewed through the eyes of another.

It had started after Castiel had been released from Lucifer’s possession, after Amara and God made peace and found a balance with each other, the world had been saved yet again.

Dean and Sam had insisted Cas stay home while they go on a hunt, that of all of them, he had the greatest right to some downtime- with the bonus of being their backup if they needed to call him for research purposes.

Cas had fought, movements agitated and restless.

Dean put his hands on Cas’ shoulders. “Cas.” The angel stilled, meeting his eye. Dean smiled and slid his hands down to rest on Cas’ biceps, and Castiel had a moment to wonder if the motion was meant to be soothing, because it worked. “You took one for the team. You took a _big one_ for the team, that neither of us expected or would have ever asked you to. And, which, I am still mad at you for, but it’s partially our fault as well, so ignore that bit, but you did it.” He squeezed gently, eyes warm. “Let us take care of you for a bit and know you’re safe, okay? In case you missed it, something always seems to trying to take you away- in a permanent sense. That’s not gonna fly well with me.” He hesitated, dropping both his hands and his gaze. “Losing you never has.”

Castiel relented quietly, reaching out to give Dean’s wrist a squeeze, before offering a small smile and moving away down the corridor.

The thing about being an angel was that as his grace wrecked havoc on his senses of the world, amplified his external senses far too much so he could taste a thunderstorm a league away and see the colors of a human’s soul. There was an emotional dampener in place, as well. He felt. He felt a LOT, but angels weren’t _meant_ to have emotions, just obey their orders, and his Grace did everything in it’s power to keep him from feeling things that would distract him. Distract him and lead to his death, or the death of a sibling, or their charge.

Feelings were dangerous. Or, well, Heaven viewed them as such.

To him, they were variations of white noise, color, or sensation he couldn’t filter out or name. They were vaguely familiar, almost recognizable… but too much interference kept them agonizingly beyond his ability to understand.

It had been compulsion due to these emotions that had lead to the start of the “when” if not the “why”. He’d been alone. Alone with an itch under his skin he couldn’t name. Maybe that was part of the “why”. He’d been alone and didn’t want to be, and doing things seemed easier than thinking. If he was doing, he didn’t have to think.

He dusted the library. He put away books Sam had sequestered away to his room. He made Sam’s bed and tidied up the teetering stacks of files on his desk. Then, he’d gone to Dean’s room to do the same.

Dean’s room, however, was already clean and the bed made. Cas stood on the threshold peering in and… hesitating. He wasn’t sure why. He had no qualms about going in Sam’s room, but that perhaps was because Sam had once given him the permission to enter without Sam there, had, in fact, _told_ Cas to go in there.

Dean’s room was… different. Sacred, somehow. Revered by Dean, if the immaculate order he kept it in were any clue. It felt wrong to enter if he had no purpose in there.

Then, he spied the laundry basket in the corner, the edge of a shirt creeping up from under the lid as though trying to escape. Castiel crossed the threshold.

He’d done the laundry, carefully reading the detergent and following its instructions, putting maybe a little bit extra fabric softener in to assure Dean’s clothes be comfortable and inviting when he pulled them out to wear. Then once they were dry, he’d folded or hung them and put them away, and quietly left the room feeling something among all the white noise of emotions he believed _might_ be contentment. Something. The noise of it all softened a bit. That was what contentment was, right?

The day after they came home from the hunt, Dean and Cas had been walking by the library when Deancalled, “Thanks for doing my laundry, Sam.”

The younger Winchester had looked up at them in confusion, opening his mouth to refute the action, but had caught Cas’ eye and seen the finger subtly put to his lips. Sam’s mouth clicked shut. Then opened again.

“Uh, you’re… welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Cas, good timing. Can I get your opinion on this lore?” He waited until Dean was out of ear shot. “Cas, man, you did his laundry? And you cleaned my room, I noticed. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He tasted the words on his tongue for a moment before carefully offering, “But I found the silence is easier when busy.”

Sam’s eyes softened and warmed, his posture relaxing. He offered a sad smile. “Yeah, I can appreciate that.”

“ _Dean_ would not appreciate knowing I was responsible for the minor chore, though. That or any other. So I would appreciate it if you would… let him draw his own conclusions- and not correct them.”

Sighing, Sam gave him a disapproving look. “Fine. But if he outright asks: I am not lying. And you don’t have to, really. I’ll pick up up a book of hobby ideas-”

Cas declined.

On their next hunt, Sam still brought him back a book on various hobbies, and didn’t correct Dean about why the kitchen was so spotless. He’d just acknowledged it with a tight smile and gone back to his book.

Castiel noticed Sam made more of an effort to keep his room clean from then on, and had his laundry done and put away before they went on hunts, leaving nothing for Cas to do. The book of hobbies usually found it’s way out onto the table top before they left on their next case as well, a quiet nudge from the younger Winchester which did not go ignored.

He planted a garden in the neglected green house in the bowels on the bunker, and clumsily took up crocheting, all the while still drifting through the empty bunker doing a little of whatever he could in each room. Consistently drawn most the Dean’s room and standing just outside it, feeling pulled.

He did his laundry, dried them, and then carried the basket of warm clothes back to the hunter’s room, setting it on the bed. Then, for his own convenience, reorganized Dean’s closet as he hung things up- to make it easier to know where things needed to be and where they were.  Then he sat on the left side of the bed, pulling items from the basket to fold and put away.

Comfort. That little buzz that seemed to come from the center of his being and spread out. That was this feeling. Doing this was comforting, somehow. Followed by contentment when finished. He smoothed out the wrinkles he’d left on the bed, turned off the light, and left.

–

“Dude,” Dean called, stepping into the War Room, face pinched. “You did my laundry again.”

Sam shrugged. “Well it needed to be done,” he offered in response.

Castiel continued reading a novel in an arm chair and did not look up or react in any way.

“And reorganized my closet by _color_?”

Expression falling flat, Sam shot Cas an exasperated and annoyed look the angel pretended not to notice as he turned the page of his book.

“Boredom is apparently a _thing_ ,” Sam said, turning back to Dean and spreading his hands in the air.

Dean stared at him a minute, then the pinch look softened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it. It actually makes it a lot easier. But, seriously, you don’t have to do my laundry.”

“I am _fully aware_ it does not need to be done.”

“It’s really weird you are folding my socks and underwear, man.”

Sam blinked and straightened, looking affronted. “It _isn_ ’t weird, Dean. It’s being _nice_ and _considerate_. Don’t be rude!”

His brother blinked in surprise and held up his hands. “Whoa. Sorry. It was very nice. You really don’t have to, though. Just saying.”

Sam’s aggressive posture softened and he nodded. “I am _fully_ aware.”

–

Their next trip, Dean and Sam both did their laundry before leaving, though Dean left his in the drier. Cas pulled them out and went through the process of folding and putting them away in Dean’s room, pausing when he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror tacked to the wall by the dresser. He was standing before the mirror without thinking about it, studying his reflection, one of Dean’s shirts still in his hands.

He held it up over his chest, trying to picture himself in Dean’s clothes. He could still smell the faint smell of Dean on them melded together with the laundry detergent and softener. Emotions, various static and white noise and frequencies flared up and roared, warring with each other.

He wanted… something. He also was… disquieted? No. Apprehensive? Maybe. Apprehensive, maybe, about something that wasn’t, but was a possibility. His whole being shied away from being forced to name it, the noise grew louder until he was forced to retreat from it, to not try to examine it closer. He tried to examine the other instead. The need for… something. Not a need, exactly. A longing.

For what?

His fingers clenched and unclenched the material in his hands, and turning he set it down and grabbed another shirt, holding it up before his reflection. The roar inside him made no sense. How was he suppose to act if he didn’t know what his feelings were trying to tell him? When he couldn’t even really feel them, not like a human did.

That had been the most jarring part of being human. Suddenly having his emotions in pure unfiltered, unsuppressed state when he didn’t know how to control them himself. Still, if pressed to ask, as hard and overwhelming as raw emotions were, it was better to have them than the noise filling his being.

“What are you doing?”

Cas dropped the shirt in surprise and spun toward the door. Dean stood just in the hallway frowning at him. Kneeling to scoop up the shirt, Cas busied himself with turning toward the basket, then withdrew his hands from it, not wanting to give himself away, even while… what? Caught? He felt caught. Discovered doing something wrong. Something he’d wanted hidden.

His face felt hot with something he couldn’t name, but thought might be shame or embarrassment. he awkwardly patted the pile with a glance at Dean, not looking quiet at him.

“You left them in the drier. They were going to wrinkle, so I-”

Something lit in Dean’s eyes and his sucked in a short breath, taking a step closer as he pointed to the angel. As he’d taken a step forward, Cas had unconsciously backed away from him, swallowing thickly. Dean stilled.

“ _You_ have been doing my laundry. Not Sam.” 

Castiel borrowed Sam’s words. “It needed to be done.”

Pursing his lips, Dean nodded, accepting this as his gaze drifted around and then to the mirror, jerking his head toward it while looking at Cas. “And that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know.”

Expression shifting, Dean watched him for a moment in consternation, and everything in Cas wished he still had the use of his wings. Sucking in a deep breath, Dean released it out slowly, and dropped the laptop bag hanging from his shoulder, sitting it against the doorframe for when he left.

A brief part of Cas mind wondered if Sam left it behind on purpose, to force this confrontation. A roar of noise agreed he had and felt… red. Black. Television static.

He felt angry. Betrayed. Exposed. A swell of blue and the rush of ocean waves came to Sam’s defense, and some of the other noise backed down, though it didn’t die away.

Dean was looking at him again, face a careful mask, and he made no movement. Cas wondered if he was afraid. There was caution in his eyes.

“Did you want to… try them on?”

Cas’ face flushed deeper. “No!” He looked at the clothes and then the mirror in something he thought must be horror; everything he was recoiled from the thought of Dean’s suggestion. “I just…” His hands opened and closed uselessly by his sides, unable to look at Dean. He picked up one of the shirts again, held it in both his hands like he could squeeze the answer from the soft fabric.

“I think I am torn,” he admitted finally, lifting his gaze to Dean’s. “The way I experience emotion is not the same as yours. It… well, is as easy for me as it is for you to hear my true voice, though not painful. Angels are designed with emotional suppressors. I _don’t_ _know_ what I want or why.”

“What do you think you are torn about?” Dean asked, voice pitched low and soft.

He used one of his professional voices. The one he did when he the situation was serious, but he didn’t want to feed a victim’s panic.

The blinding, deafening noise from before returned with a vengeance, trying to fight Cas back, to keep him from looking, from prying. Another part, the part that griped the shirt and was drawn to Dean’s room, shoved him forward, crashing, and they met like waves crashing into each other.

“I think… I think maybe part of me misses being human,” he admitted. It was a whisper he barely recognized as having spoken. “I miss feeling- the way _you_ are designed to. I miss being _allowed_ to feel, of knowing my Grace isn’t muffling and distorting what I feel trying to make it unrecognizable. Part of me misses being Lucifer’s vessel, because archangels _have_ emotions and even if I could not feel mine, I could experience _his_.”

Dean waited, and Cas began twisting the shirt in his hands, no longer looking at it or anything, seeing inside himself to the chaos and noise he was trying to untangle and separate into order.

“I think part of me is afraid to be human, as well. Maybe I keep trying to believe in my siblings simply because… I don’t know. It’s familiar. It’s unhappy- and lonely- but it’s familiar. I remember being human. The sadness, the fear, being alone. My pain was _so_ great one of my brother’s thought me mortally wounded and sought to end my suffering. I told him I wanted to live, and he asked me if I wanted to live as an angel or a man. I didn’t have an answer.” His eyes darted back and forth and he shook his head. White noise and colors and lines separating. “No, I had an answer, but I didn’t want it the way I was then, the way things were. And now I still want it, but I’m afraid of it as well.”

“What do you want?”

The question jerked Cas’ head up and their gazes locked. “I want to be human.” He swallowed and shook his head. “But not like that. Not if it means I have to go through that again. If I have to do it alone. I would die from the pain of it. I can’t survive that again… but part of me still wants it,“ he swallowed and dropped his gaze, “if it means I might be human _with you_.”

Dean’s eyes were bright, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Cas looked away again, down to the shirt fisted tight in his hands.  He uncurled his grip on it as the release of pressure inside eased and settled, all the noise calm and steady then.

In two strides, Dean crossed the room and wrapped his arms around him, startling Castiel.

“You will _never_ go through that again,” Dean swore, voice a rough whisper against his ear. “As long as there is a breath in my body, you will never walk this earth alone, Cas.”

Cas hugged him back, realizing as he did it that he was shaking in the hunter’s arms. He clung to him for a long moment, face buried. He inhaled the scent of fabric softener and _Dean_.

When Dean released him, it was to place his hands on the sides on Cas’ neck, his thumbs resting against his jaw.

“If you want to be human, we will _get_ you human, and you will _not_ be alone.”

Cas thought he might be very close to crying. “Would I still have to stay behind in the bunker?”

Lips pulling back in a chagrin smile, it softened and warmed, Dean straightening and letting his hands fall away. “You know what?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make some calls. Plenty of other hunters can work this case. We’ll let them, and any others they feel inclined to take. You good with that?”

Castiel nodded.

_END_

–

**NOTE: GOOD GOD THIS GOT WAY LONGER THAN I MEANT!!! Sorry. Hope y’all like it. Reblog to share with others, and please don’t forget to comment/tag!**


	25. Gentle hands to care and heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Tricksterdreams: "As for the fic prompt... Idk, some Sabriel would be awesome if it's okay with you? I don't have anything specific in mind, maybe some hurt/comfort? "

Thanks again for drawing the request! As promised, here’s you a little Sabriel!

—

Despite his careful administrations, Sam still winced at the sharp hiss of breath sucked through Gabriel’s teeth. He stilled, eyes flicking up from the wrap of gauze to the archangel’s face.

“Sorry. Too tight?” He had so much experience bandaging Dean and himself up that he didn’t think he’d messed up, but his distraction over having the half dead archangel dropped at their feet was enough to make him fumble.

Gabriel forced a thin smile, his face pale and the skin around his eyes tight. “No, you’re fine. The burns from Metatron’s containment chains and spells are just raw. Even the salve hurts.”

Offering a weak smile, Sam rubbed his thumb over the unharmed skin in a gesture of comfort, before looking back down to his work.

When he’d finished, Gabriel shifted a little, wincing with the movement and not fighting as Sam reached forward the unbutton the tattered remains of Gabriel’s silk shirt.

“Gotta say, kiddo, when I imagined you undressing me? It wasn’t like this.”

A flush of heat crept over Sam’s cheeks, and he quirked a brow.

“You’ve imagined me undressing you?”

“The human with a heart of gold and soul blazing with purity even while Hell tried to make you their king? Kid, who wouldn’t fall for that? Not to mention, you are so very pretty to look at. What I wouldn’t do to have my hands in your hair- you know, when I’m not in such a disabled state from torture.”

Sam winced again as he pushed Gabriel’s shirt off his shoulders, recoiling at the raw burns in the shape of chain links looping around his torso.

“Geez, Gabriel…”

“Yeah, I know how to flatter a guy. Is it just because I’m mostly human at the moment that it hurts this much?”

“I don’t know. We have little experience with this, actually. I think so.” He reached for the medicine kit again, taking out a packet of pain killers. “Which means human medicine will probably work for you. Here. Take these. It’ll help with the pain. Probably put you to sleep, which, no offense, you look like you could use.”

Taking the proffered pills, Gabriel popped them into his mouth and then chased them down with the glass of water Sam held out. He allowed Sam to help him to more of a sitting position rather than a recline, Sam carefully continuing the slow, careful process of applying medicine and wrapping gauze until the majority of the archangel’s chest was wrapped in white.

“Fucking Metatron,” he growled, not reacting as Gabriel slumped forward, head landing on Sam’s shoulder while Sam tied off the gauze at the angel’s back.

“I’m gonna put that guy through so much misery,“ Gabriel said, words slurring. “Once I’m up and running again-y’know I think I feel those pills now. I’m fuzzy and tired and you’re really wonderfully warm and inviting.”

Sam blushed until his ears turned red, before gently pushing Gabriel back and trying to catch his eye.

“Hey, you probably need to give in and rest now. We’ll get you to bed. Can you walk?”

“Taking me to bed already, Sam? You didn’t even buy me dinner first,” he said, head rolling and body limp.

Sam huffed a laugh against his neck. “Okay, I’m gonna sweep you off your feet now, and it may hurt. On three. One-” He scooped Gabriel into his arms and stood, the angel letting out a low groan through clenched teeth.

“I don’t believe I’m swooning properly for the occasion.”

“And yet.”

A low chuckled. “And yet I have been rescued, bandaged, carried, and taken to bed by my Prince. Damn I’m good at this.”

“You are _definitely_ feeling the pain killers.”

“I’m not feeling any pain at the moment.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“I think I’ll take that nap now.”

Gingerly placing him on the bed in one of the guest rooms, Sam smiled, reaching for the extra blanket. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Unfocused eyes opened with some effort and found Sam. “What are you gonna do?”

Pulling up the chair from the corner, Sam lowered himself into it and leaned back. “I’m gonna sit in the best seat in the house until you wake up.”

Drunken giggles from Gabriel. “Keep being so nice, I’ll think you’re sweet on me, Sam Winchester.”

Sam shrugged. “You’re not the worst thing ever.”

–

I hope you enjoyed! I don’t actually ship Sabriel, and this was my first time writing them, so I hope it was cute!


	26. Pretend Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: "*shyly pokes fingers together* tenoko I would love to see your version of the pretend boyfriends prompt <3 "

Leaning back against the Impala, hands in the pockets of his jacket, Dean let his gaze sweep briefly over Sam as he came out the brick and mortar real estate building looking harried and annoyed. Sam met his eye only for a second as he descended the stairs of the stoop. Giving a barely visible shake of his head, Sam turned and walked in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

Dean heaved a sigh, and clapped twice on the hood of the engine with his palm. Cas stepped out of the vehicle and around to stand in front of the hunter. He had a folder of their forged papers in hand.

“It didn’t work?”

“It didn’t work,” Dean confirmed, separating his feet and reaching out to pull Cas forward, hands curling in the material of his coat. “So that means Plan B.” He stood, morphing his expression into something warm and affectionate as he lifted a hand to fuss with Cas’ unruly hair and then to carefully straighten his clothing into something more presentable. “So try to look as though you like me, okay?”

Cas tilted his head, pink lips pulling into a frown. “But I do like you.”  
With a lopsided grin and eye roll, Dean chucked him lightly under the chin. “You know what I mean, sweetheart. You and I are looking to take that big step and move in together, after all.”

Color rose to Castiel’s cheeks as he rapidly blinked and glanced away. “Yes, of  course….” He frowned and looked back to Dean, brows drawn together. “What do I call you?”

Dean snorted a soft laugh and slung an arm around Cas’ back, hand squeezing his shoulder. “You can call me by my name, Cas. Don’t push yourself or we won’t sell this.”

“And what about Sam?”

“Gonna rendezvous with us as the restaurant owned by the same family, so we can see and be seen. Extended undercover will mean learning their habits, routines, and time schedules if we’re gonna infiltrate and destroy.”

“This seems unduly complicated.” He seemed more confused than annoyed, like why couldn’t they charge in with guns blasting, swords swinging, and angelic smiting?

The receptionist looked up as they entered, and Dean leaned in unduly close to whisper, biting back a smile at the way Cas stiffened in response. “That is because you have never taken on a mafia family of supernaturals, Cas. We need more than guts and ammo this time. We’ve got to play the long game.”

“May I help you?”

When he turned, head swiveling as though caught off guard by the appearance of another person, his mouth just barely grazed Cas’ cheekbone. It made something dark and warm and delightful curl low in the pit of his belly.

He grinned. “Yes, you can. You had an advert for an apartment that was available?” She nodded. His smile grew. “My boyfriend and I were wondering if it was available to look at today.”

“We’re moving in together,” Cas interjected.

Dean turned his head to give him an amused grin. Turning his head, Cas offered him an almost shy smile in return. Warmth spread through Dean at the sight, and he gave Cas’ shoulder another squeeze before turning back to look at the receptionist and confirming, “We’re moving in together.”

~FIN

Hope you like! Fanfic: created out of love and shared out of kindness! Reblog to share with others, and tell me what you thought!


	27. Of Rollercoasters and Ferris Wheels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V. Fluffy Prompt: After Cas loses his wings, Dean would PROBABLY take him to ride a ton of rollercoasters so that he could feel like he's flying again but Cas is a bit wary of the larger coasters, so they start with the kid sized coasters and work their way up as they go, and maybe they smooch at the top of a ferris wheel or hold hands on the carousel. (Also once Cas gets the hang of coasters, he turns out to be a BIT of an adrenaline junkie and drags Dean all over the country to ride them.)

Smirking, Dean slides a hand into his pocket. “C’mon, Cas. No need to look so dubious. It’ll be fun.”

People moved around them like water parting for a boulder, while the angel- former angel- let his gaze wander over the rides, booths, and concession stands.

“People keep screaming, Dean.”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “That’s part of the fun, and reflexive. I think there’s actual science behind it. You have to try very hard NOT to scream if you don’t. It’s easier to just scream and enjoy it. They’re rides. Adrenaline and screaming are part of the fun.”

Castiel eyed the roller coaster, dubious. “These cannot be safe. Fairs travel and are taken down and reconstructed in a rush-”

“ _Cas_.” When Castiel looked at him, Dean smiled. “Just trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I’ll even hold your hand so you won’t be scared.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but to his surprise, Castiel’s pale face bobbed in consent, quickly moving over to slip his hand into Dean’s as he eyed the ride. Dean felt his face go hot, heart thundering against this ribs. When Cas let at a slow, shaky breath, Dean gave his hand a squeeze.

“It’ll be fun. The scare factor is just part of the fun, I promise. You’ll be fine.”

“This is not sane. High-speed miniature trains on a limited amount of track?” He shook his head and met Dean’s eye. “But I trust you.”

They got in line, Cas never lessening the grip he hand on Dean’s hand. And when seated and strapped in, Cas shifted so that he covered Dean’s hand with his as they held onto the bar in front of them. 

Afterward, Dean nearly had to pry Cas’ deathgrip off the bar. “It’s over, Cas. You did it, you’re first roller coaster.”

Screwed eyes shut popped open, head snapping to look at Dean. “That was fun!” he insisted.

Smirking, Dean helped him stand and leave the the cart, guiding them back to solid ground. “It’s okay if you didn’t like it, Cas. Not everyone does.”

“I didn’t know my stomach could do that. I thought it was going to come out.” He tugged at the hand Dean didn’t realize he was still holding. “Maybe we could try something… slower?”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean agreed emphatically, feeling bad now. “Whatever you want.”

Blue eyes cast around and then settled. “Maybe we could try that.”

Dean followed his line of sight, stomach sinking to his boots and then lower at the iron circle rising above all the other rides.

“Sure,” he said, voice coming out a strangled squeak. “Yeah, just, uh… I-I don’t do so well with the, um, the-” He made a vague gesture.

Cas frowned. “But you did the roller coaster.”

“That goes a lot faster. This is slow. And high.” He swallowed, trying to keep his stomach from now coming out of his mouth. “But we can do that. If you really want.”

Brows lifted, concerned eyes searched Dean’s face. “I’ll hold your hand if it’ll make you feel better.”

Dean’s head bobbed frantically. “You’re gonna have to. And no sudden movements. And don’t try to get me to look around. But seriously, don’t let go.”

Cas gave it a squeeze and pulled him through the crowd.

End

–

Hope you liked it! Please be kind a leave a comment!


	28. Crashing down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I heard right? You're taking requests for prompts? *rubs hands gleefully* Samifer. When Sam opens his door the rain is falling with so much vengeance and in such thick drops as to make it seem like a curtain. Which is why Lucifer is soaking wet on his doorstep, wearing a miserable expression on his face.

Note: Complete disregard for Mary or the British MOL. Amara is stopped, everyone goes home safe and happy. With the removal of Lucifer, Cas finds his grace has utterly burnt out trying to keep Lucifer from burning through him and also keeping him alive during the torture Amara put Lucifer through.

-

The storm outside was unlike anything they’d experienced in the bunker before. The lights had flicked out twice already, sending the bunker into the ethereal dark glow of emergency lights.

At the first banging noises, Sam and Dean both looked up from their books, eyes meeting across the table. In the armchair, Cas paused in his reading.

“What that thunder?”

“It didn’t sound like-”

The weak banging on metal came again and they shoved to their feet, chairs scrapping the cement floor.

Dean pulled a gun, checking it as he and Cas came to cover Sam. “It’s a monsoon out there. There are _tornadoes_! Who the _hell_ is at the door?!”

Cas followed Sam up the stairs while Dean stayed on the ground floor, gun trained and steady. Hand on the cool metal of the door knob, Sam met Cas’ eye, the former angel giving a nod and flexing his grip on his sword.

The sound of rain was deafening with the door open, immediately pouring in and splashing over the toes Sam’s boots. Thunder boomed so loud he felt it reverberate through his whole body, his heart giving a little stutter. It wasn’t until lightening lit the sky that he saw the half-dead figure swaying there.

“Oh good.” Lucifer staggered forward a step. “You’re home.”

His eyes rolled back in his head then and he went slack at the knees right into Sam’s arms.

“Jesus,” Sam exclaimed, then to Cas, “Help me.”

“What’s going on?” demanded Dean.

“Grab his-”

“Sam, he’s covered in blood-”

“ _What’s_ going on?”

“Shit, Cas. He looks half mauled!” He turned, craning to look down at his brother. “Get the emergency medical supplies! All of them!”

“ _What is_ -”

“ _NOW_ , Dean!” Sam barked.

Muttering and swearing, Dean stowed his weapon and dashed down the corridor while Sam and Cas worked together to get Lucifer inside, and then force the door closed, both of them throwing their weight against it as water continued to pour in from outside, soaking the bottom of their jeans.

Door secured, Sam spun back to Lucifer, the lights overhead flickering with the storm. “Oh please don’t go out,” he begged. “Help me get him down to the table so we have room to work.”

Dean came back in just as they were hoisting Lucifer’s unconscious form unto the large table and illuminated map, and skidded to a halt.

“Mother fuck.” He unceremoniously dropped all the supplied on the table and pointed back to the door. “Throw his ass back out. Let him drown. We’ll bury the body once the storm passes.”

Opening the first aid kit, Sam removed a pair of scissors. “Cas, undo his shirt. I’ll see to his jeans.”

Dean pulled his gun back out, leveling it at Lucifer’s temple. “I am not playing, Sam. Us and the world are safer with him neutralized.”

Sam shoved his hand away. “Yeah, because he’s such an obvious threat at the moment. For all you know this is the guy he was possessing.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“We can’t just kill him, Dean.”

“This is _Lucifer_ , Sam! I am pretty sure we can, and that this will probably be our only chance.”

Castiel glared at Dean. “While I am not entirely fond of him, we are not _murdering_ him, Dean, so either help or stay out of the way.” His gaze flicked to Sam. “He’s going to need a lot of stitches. Show me how.”

Silence settled in, interrupted only by the occasional quiet murmurs between Sam and Cas as they cleaned wounds, stitched skin, and finally bandaged Lucifer up. The muscles of Sam’s back and shoulders pinched and cramped from the long hours standing hunched. His hands were stiff from all the careful stitches. Dean brought out the I.V. tree and set Lucifer up on a fluid line, grumbling that the archangel was probably going to bleed out anyway.

In the early morning hours, they finally stood back, taking in the fallen archangel, looking human and vulnerable surrounded by piles of ruined clothing and bloody medical supplies.

Arms folded across his chest, Dean said, “I still say we douse him in holy oil and light him on fire.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Go to bed, Dean. I’ll stay with him.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. “Hopefully, he’ll make it past dawn.”

Snorting, his brother turned and walked away. “I’m locking my door and sleeping with a gun.”

“So business as usual for you?” Sam snapped back.

“ _Two_ guns, then.”

Head tilted, Cas’ gaze followed him, brows knit together. Sam jerked his head toward the corridor. “Go get some sleep. I’ve got this.”

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he assured.

“I hardly think he’ll be much trouble.”

“For Lucifer, that still means a _great deal_ of trouble.” He sighed. “Good night, Sam. I’ll switch with you in the morning.”

Once they were gone, weariness settled in, causing Sam to sigh explosively, before grabbing the trashcan and raking the bloody materials off the table. He darted into the kitchen to retrieve a wash cloth, wiping all the blood off the table, and even off the skin not covered in white gauze and bandaging. Then, he procured the armchair and a blanket from the library, settling the soft material over Lucifer, and placed the arm chair at the table’s edge.

He stood there for a moment, studying Lucifer’s face. He looked different again. Back to the original vessel appearance, but still… different. Older and younger at once. He brought his hand up, gently touching at the lines and creases of his eyes that spoke of years of laughter, the faint lines under them as though the laughter had been replaced with sorrow and weariness instead. His skin was hot to the touch.

For some reason, when Sam thought back to the weeks and months of Cas being his vessel, in those memories, Sam saw this vessel instead. His mind correcting a visual error, seeing behind the mask to the face Sam knew best.

He dragged his gaze down, fingers following the path until they gingerly touched the bandage around his throat. His jugular had nearly been cut, mere millimeters of skin keeping him alive. There were bandages encircling his chest, long lines of intersecting stitching that would leave permanent scars. His whole body would look like that. Sliding a hand under his elbow, Sam took Lucifer’s hand in his free one, lifting the arm and turning it with care, studying the bandages and the recalling where each line of careful stitches were.

Lucifer’s eyes flew open, body arching up as he sucked in a strangled breath, fingers clamping down on Sam’s hand as the hunter tried to throw himself back in shock.

“Geez!”

The archangel shot to a sitting position, his injuries making him cry out in pain, snapping Sam back into focus. He grabbed for Lucifer’s shoulder trying to push him back down.

“Lucifer, stop! Lay back down!”

A hand curled in fabric of Sam’s shirt, wide, unseeing eyes seeking out Sam’s face. “No! Don’t!”

“You’re safe, Lucifer. It’s me. Sam.”

“You can’t. _You can’t_.” His eyes were fever bright and wild. Delirious, Sam realized, trapped in some nightmare or memory.

Sam shook his head, heart hammering with panic that the angel was about to undo all of their efforts. “I won’t,” he promised. “Lucifer! I won’t. You’re safe!”

He pulled Sam in closer, fingers curled so tightly, the bandages creaked in protest. Wide eyes stared back into Lucifer’s panicked ones.

“You can’t leave me like this.”

“I didn’t do this to you. Lucifer, it’s _Sam_.” He covered the hand gripping his shirt with his own. He had no idea what, who, or even _when_ Lucifer was seeing. “I’m trying to help you,” he insisted, voice soft but firm.

Scared blue eyes searched his face, the panic melding into… grief? Desperation? Confusion? All three?

“ _What’s happened to me?_ ”

Was the question meant for Sam? Or was he asking someone else? Swallowing, he floundered, brows knitting together before admitting what he hadn’t wanted to consider before. “I think you’re human. Whatever happened… I think it left you human.”

Lucifer shook his head. “You can’t. You can't do this. You can’t _leave_ me here like this. Can’t leave me _alone_ like this.”

Sam pressed him back down to the table, pinning him with one hand, the other still caught in Lucifer’s death grip. “I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t leave you alone, okay?”

He barely managed a nod before the light left his eyes and he slipped from consciousness again, taunt muscles going slack, and the fingers curled into claws around Sam’s hand loosening. Releasing a shaky breath, Sam cupped a hand over his mouth, trying to force his heart and stomach back down. He was shaking, mind reeling as the truth of the matter refused to be ignored anymore.

What were they going to do?

He reached out with his free hand and dragged the chair closer, and collapsed into it. With his other, he kept hold of Lucifer’s lax fingers.

“I won’t leave you alone,” he whispered, the words heard only by the walls surrounding them.

END

**Thank you for reading! Please be kind a leave a comment let me know what you thought!**


	29. The Adventures of Becky, Cas, and a Cat named Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Becky and Cas are the most unlikely of friends and roommates in an alternate S9 fic I am planning.




 

 

Idea/scenes excerpt from alt s9 fic “Adventures of Becky, Cas, and a cat named Bob” (unofficial title) I am planning once I finish my current fic. In which Cas landed in NYC when he fell, and ends up stranded in Delaware after traveling there in order to hop on a train to get to Lawrence, then to Lebanon. When he gets there and calls Dean to let him know he'll be there on the next train, Dean breaks the news that Cas can't come to the bunker. Cue similar scene of April finding Cas and taking him home, except in this case, Becky Rosen takes him in instead, and the world's most unlikely friendship begins, where Cas and Becky both teach the other how to exist in a nonsensical and painful world they feel alone and out of place in.

And Becky adopts a transgendered cat named Bob.

\--

Clean and changed into soft, dry sweats and a shirt, Castiel sat opposite Becky at her dining room table regarding the cup of cocoa and marshmallows she'd just given him. Sat between the two of them on the table's surface was the cat she'd also taken in that day. Said cat was, in fact, scowling at Castiel, he didn't care what Becky said on the matter.

 “Penelope?" she suggested. She was slumped over, chin resting on her folded arms. "Melody? Cupcake?”

The stray's tail flicked back and forth, ears turned toward the sound of her voice and twitching with each suggestion. Cas continued to study the animal, before finally interrupting, “The cat’s a boy.”

She frowned and straightened. Reaching out, she lifted the cat in what Cas was sure was an undignified moment of mortification for the creature to check it's anatomy. “No, Cas, it’s a girl.”

Returned to the table, the feline curled it's tail around itself, head turning so it could gaze uncaring at nothing in particular. He was pretty sure it was offended. Were he still an angel, he could have acted as translator, but now, like this, all he had was what could only be described as intuition. A sense, a knowing, without fully knowing how he knew other than the residual grace that had permeated into the body that was now his.

He shook his head, pointing. “He sees himself as a boy and wants a boy name.”

Becky frowned, processing this. “…I have a transgender cat?”

“…If that means what I just said, then yes.”

Her lips pursed for a moment as she thought, and he lifted his cocoa, sipping experimentally. Finally, “Bob?”

Cas choked and scowled at her. “That is a _terrible_ name.”

“It’s a good, solid name!”

“It’s an abomination.”

Which disolved into them bickering and arguing over what male name to pick, and Becky rallying hard for ‘Bob’ just to make Cas' face morph into various annoyed expressions, the loss and pain that had been haunting his eyes retreating for the first time since she'd found him in the rain.

\--

Months after his adoption, they learned that Bob the Cat was pregnant. Once born and old enough for them to handle, Becky and Cas sat in the laundry room next to the cardboard box carefully picking up and examining each of the tiny creatures. Cradling the tiny bundle like the most fragile of glass, Castiel gently stroked a finger over it's small head, marveling at the delicate ears and the beauty of life.

Humming, Becky scooped up a kitten, regarding it for a moment, then grinned wickedly. “Bob, Jr." She peered down into the box pointing to each kitten in turn and oblivious of the way Cas' entire face flinched. "Bob-erella. Bobbie. Bob bob. Jim Bob. And Lil' Bob.”

Cas was going to have an aneurysm, “Do you think this is a _GAME_?”

She blinked and held the kitten out in cupped hands for his examination. “I think it’s a cat.”

\--

Lil' Bob perched on his shoulder, Cas shuffled awkwardly through the dark apartment toward the kitchen. Despite his fatigue, sleep was refusing to come easily. He faltered at the sight of Becky at her desk, illuminated by the glow of the laptop and typing away as though she were writing the next Great American novel.

“Becky… Go to _bed_.”

  
“I **can’t**. People on the Internet are **wrong**.”

  
More furious soft clicks as her fingers flew in the light of the computer screen. Cas scrubbed a hand over his face, not awake enough for this.  
“There will always people who are wrong and vocal. Go to bed.”

  
She whirled, gripping the back of the chair and disturbing Bob where he’d been asleep on her lap. “Yeah, but this burnt waffle is improperly quoting Dean and twisting his and Sam’s relationship into something toxic and going on about how Sam doesn’t need Dean and that Dean couldn’t survive with Sam!”

  
He stared, blinking laboriously. “Becky. Go to bed. You and I both know they can and have survived without the other one- and I thought you quit the Supernatural books.”

  
“I did. Then Chuck contacted me about continuing to publish the unpublished books. I told you this. I fell off the wagon. In a strictly professional way.” She turned back to the computer, sounding petulant and bitter, “Nothing will kill a fangirl like being manipulated by the villains and then being hated by her heroes.”

  
“Becky-”

  
She snapped around again. “It gets worse! This nerf herder also said-” She froze, mouth open. It clicked shut and she twisted, fingers moving at a more subdued pace. “Something else not true. Really not true. And I’m offended because the person involved probably would believe the lie and be really hurt by it. They probably already believe the lie.”

She didn't say it was about Castiel. Didn’t tell him the OP was talking about how Dean didn’t need or care about Castiel, that Cas was an expendable tool they had some measure of fondness for. Didn’t bring up that the loss of Cas had driven Dean to suicide, and was destroying him currently. Didn’t say that Dean loved Cas, but due to miscommunication thought Castiel only saw him as a brother.

"Becky. _Sleep_."

Lips peeled back in a snarl, her fingers sped up to a furious tempo. “Later. I’ve gotta _bury_ this asshole in canon.”

Sighing, Cas scratched lightly at Lil' Bob's head and turned to the kitchen. “I’ll make you a cup of tea then.”

Insomnia was better with company anyway.

 

End

 

**Note** : More to come. This fic is in queue for once I finish my current fic _Ordained_.

**Please be kind and leave a comment! They only take a moment, but the affect lingers.**


	30. Monster Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't their typical monster hunt.

“A’right,” Dean said, eyes flicking between his phone screen and the intersection they were at. “Okay.”

Castiel, too, was concentrating on his phone screen, frowning. “I think the GPS signal is poor here. We keep getting contradicting directions.”

Eyes glued to his phone, Dean ignored the odd looks as people swarmed past them while he turned in a very slow circle.

“People are going to think we’re lost, Dean,” Cas sighed, giving up and pocketing his phone. “Or crazy.”

“I kill monsters for a living and God’s sister wanted to keep me as a _pet_. What these people think of me is the _least_ of my concerns.” When the screen let out a small pulse, he reached out blindly and grabbed Cas by the hand, tugging him along with an excited grin. “Besides! This is the most fun I’ve had on a monster hunt basically in forever.”

He missed the look of surprise on the other man’s face, the way it melted into something soft and warm as he gazed at the hand holding his, pulling him along in determination.

When the phone screen changed to an incoming call, Dean swore and angrily swiped at it, putting the phone to his ear. “Bad timing, Sam, I am closing- You what? … _WHERE_?! I have been trying to-for _three_ _days_! Okay, okay. We’re, uh,  making our way your direction. Don’t let it escape. Wha- I don’t know how, just stay there!”

Cas’ smile widen as Dean turned his head to flash a feral grin, fingers tightening just slightly on Cas’ hand. “That Ditto _is mine_.”

“Of course, Dean.”


	31. Offering refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please, Lucifer,” Sam whispered. “You asked me to trust you once, now I’m asking you to trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post S11. Written before the airing of S12.

_Lucifer… where are you?_

As soon as he had the thought, Sam stilled in surprise. Did that count as a prayer? He let his eyes play over the map they’d been using to try and scry the angel’s location. Castiel was certain Lucifer for alive, but no spell to find him had been successful so far. ‘Where is he?’ had been the question on all their minds in the days since they’d rescued Sam from the MOL, but that was the first time Sam had asked it quite that way.

Maybe that was what they needed. Magic had been a long shot of finding the angel who had to know everyone would be after him, he’d be warded harder than the bunker.

 _Lucifer, where are you? Are you okay?_ Sam could feel himself blushing as he thought the words, earning a puzzled look from his mother who’d been observing him work. Rowena would probably know a more effective spell, but she and Crowley had both disappeared as soon as the world had been saved and hadn’t been heard from since. _Look… Dean helped stop Amara. She and Chuck, well, basically he helped them work things out and they disappeared together somewhere. We’ve got more problems._ You’ve _got problems._

Straightening, Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing as his hand brushed over the bruises and cuts marring his skin. “This isn’t going to work. I mean, I knew it was a long shot, but he’s going to be armed with every ward he probably knows and a few more he created.” He shook his head, stomach sinking at the truth. “We’re not going to find him unless he wants to be found.”

Across the table, Mary studied the map a moment, before her eyes flicked up to his, her head angling to one side. “You said he’s an angel? This ally that helped you fight Amara?” Sam nodded. “Is there no other way to find him? Are there summoning spells for angels?”

He wasn’t able to hold her gaze, looking away guiltily. So far, he’d kept the specifics from her. They were trying their best to ease her into the cluster that was their lives, but there was no subtle way of explaining the Apocalypse and Lucifer and Chuck and years of changes to all of them. How was he going to explain that of all the people looking for Lucifer, Sam was probably the only one actually concerned for his well-being, while everyone else, including Castiel, were on a man-hunt.

_Where are you? Heaven and Crowley are hunting you._

“That’s… well, yes, there are, but it’s not that simple. One, he’d be warded against that, since that’s the easiest way for his enemies to capture him- we actually had to summon him ourselves, recently. Two, if he’s not in a human vessel when we summoned him, when we pulled him into the room, it would make all of us instantly go blind. Three… we’re not sure what all Amara did when she yanked him out of Castiel and tossed him… wherever. For all we know, she made him human to punish him.”

She rose, hands coming up to grip her elbows as she moved to examine a stack of lore and spell books Sam had retrieved earlier. “This Amara is God’s… sister? Wouldn’t that make them family?”

He huffed a small laugh, brows lifting then settling again. “Well, their family is probably the only one more complicated than ours. There’s a lot of animosity between all of them. The angels hate Cas almost as much as they hate-“ he cut off. Lucifer. Gadreel. Metatron. Us. He sighed and it made his cracked ribs creak in protest, causing him to wince. “I’m actually not sure the angels like _anyone_ now that I think about it. Not even those of their own kind. Once you fall out of line or think for yourself or fail them in some area, there’s basically no way to redeem yourself, no matter the circumstances behind it,” he said, thinking of Cas and of Gadreel.

_I will come get you if you need me to, just tell me where you are. We’ll all have targets on our backs, but it’s better than being alone. We’ll come up with a plan._

Frustration mounting, Sam held up a hand. “Look, this is pointless. I’m gonna…” His eyes flicked around in vain. “I’m gonna go catch up on some sleep.” He paused, frowning as he looked around again. “Where are Dean and Cas?”

Her eyes flicked to the door overhead. “For a drive.” She met his gaze again. “Said they needed to talk, and I think my presence makes Dean uncomfortable, so they left to talk without interruption or distraction.”

He glanced at the clock, noting the late hour. He had a mental image of Dean having parked the car in some open field, both he and the angel sitting on the hood and watching the galaxy drift by. He wasn’t sure they’d ever work out all their issues, but he hoped they’d be able to work through enough to find their way back to each other.

“You may want to get some rest, too,” he advised. “There’s never any knowing what tomorrow will bring. Especially not in our lives.”

She smiled. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Night, Mom.”

The hallways were silent as he made his way through the corridors to his room. He didn’t even bother to dress for bed, just shut and locked the door to his bedroom, toed off his shoes and eased himself down onto his back, one arm slung across his face.

 _For once in your life, I am giving you the invitation to talk to me, Lucifer. Don’t be a stubborn ass now. I’m probably the only person who actually_ gives a damn _if you’re okay._

It only took a few steady breaths before exhaustion won out and swept him into the black of slumber.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised by your concern.” Sam shot up in bed, head snapping in the direction of the voice. Lucifer stood on the opposite side of the motel room, leaning unsmiling against the table by the window. “Hello, Sam. Miss me?” he asked, one brow quirking as the corner of his mouth hinted at a smirk.

Throwing off the covers, Sam scrambled to close the space between them. “Dude, where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Where are you? Heaven has a man hunt out for you, Crowley is looking for revenge, hell, even _Cas_ wants to make sure you’re locked back up now that our mutual enemy is dealt with.” Hazel eyes darted over the angel’s form, body looking like that of Nick’s. Given that it was a dream, Lucifer could show him anything. His eyes met blue again. “Are you _okay_?”

There was caution behind Lucifer’s eyes, something cold and hard there and in the way he held himself, like distrust directed at Sam.

“I’m not,” he admitted, tone clipped and unwilling. “And you of all people are the only one who has asked me that, so I am left wondering _why_?”

Swallowing, Sam’s tongue darted out across his lips, Lucifer’s eyes following the movement as the hunter tried to put into words what he didn’t understand himself. “Because… because I think you genuinely wanted to protect the world, even if not necessarily humanity, and that was why you lured me to you in the first place. You wanted to stop Amara. And despite your actions against Dean and me, you kept to your word and helped stop her. _You helped us save the world_.” With a shrug, he held up his hands. “Now do I trust you not to try and kill me, Dean, and Cas? Not exactly, but I figure you need all the allies you can get right now, and you even said I’m the only one to even ask if you were okay.”

“And what are you wanting my help with in return?” Blinking, Sam frowned. “You said you had problems. I assumed it was something you need my help with or you wouldn’t have reached out to begin with.”

“Oh, that,” Sam scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “We can handle that. British Men of Letters has marked us Public Enemy Number One. I was captured and… _interrogated_ for a few days before Dean, Cas, and Mom were able to rescue me.”

Lucifer’s expression didn’t change, but the suspicion in his eyes was replaced with cold flint, the atmosphere of the room plummeting to a chill that made Sam shudder with the sudden temperature change.

“You were tortured.” Blue eyes flicked over him, but Lucifer knew as well as Sam this wasn’t what they really looked like. “Are you okay?”

Muscles tensing, memories of blow torches and brass knuckles and chains flitted through Sam’s mind, making a whisper of his injuries ache even within the dream.

“I’m not,” he confessed, borrowing Lucifer’s own admission, “but you are the one on the run on his own. How can we help?”

The archangel blinked slowly, temperature of the room creeping back up. “I need a vessel.” When Sam nodded, Lucifer’s brow rose. “Was that _consent_ , Sam, because I am going to require verbal confirmation.”

“Wha-no! No! I-I just… I figured that was one of the potential problems you were having.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Have you asked Chuck?” The raised brow arched even higher. “He already confirmed he could make a vessel to hold you, but before he didn’t have time or the strength. Amara healed him, and if they worked together, I’m sure they could easily make you one.”

“I’m also injured, Sam. Aunt Amara is vicious when she wants to be.”

“Okay, well, I’m sure they can heal that, too, if you asked. Or Chuck would.”

“And if they don’t?” he challenged. “I would be of no use to you in a fight right now.”

Frowning, Sam shook his head, balling his hands into fists so he wouldn’t reach out and grab Lucifer by the shoulders. Whether to shake him or make sure he was as solid as he appeared, Sam wasn’t sure.

“That _doesn’t matter_. I told you: we can handle them. We’ve handled worse; they just caught us off guard before. Just… ask. And if they can’t, we’ll do what we can for you instead. We’ll even help find you a vessel. Angels wouldn’t require the consent of patients on life support. That’s how Ruby found hers. If it’s not strong enough, we might can get Rowena to use a spell to make it strong enough to hold you, or find one ourselves, I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” He ducked his head to make sure he had Lucifer’s eye. “We always do.”

The silence between them stretched out an indeterminate amount, blue eyes playing over Sam’s face, and he wondered if Lucifer wasn’t reading his mind. If he was, it was too late to still the voice going _please, please, please_ like a mantra or prayer. He couldn’t have told Lucifer why it mattered so much, why he cared when everything in him said he shouldn’t.

But Lucifer had helped them. He’d kept his end of the deal. He’d risked death and been tortured keeping his end of the deal, and even after being tortured, had still been willing to help them see it through to the end.

That meant something.

“Please, Lucifer,” Sam whispered. “You asked me to trust you once, now I’m asking you to trust me.”

Sighing, Lucifer dropped his head, giving it a gentle shake. “I’m probably going to regret this.” He sucked in a breath and straightened, pushing away from the table to cross the distance between them, lifting two fingers. “I’ll contact you when I have a physical form to let you know where I am. Until then, rest, Sam.” The fingers hesitated, before his hand uncurled and he laid his palm against Sam’s jaw, thumb against his cheek and fingers curling into the hair at his neck. The pad of his thumb stroked once over the skin unblemished by sleep. “And thank you.”

As the room melted away and darkness swept in, Sam had enough presence of mind to send out the bare scraps of a prayer.

_Please, Chuck. Just one more favor._

End

**If you read this, please be kind and leave a comment, even if it's just a simple one. They are all so appreciated.**


	32. Alternate ending to s11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Anon: "Let's suspend disbelief and being analytical for a bit, but, if 11x23 would have ended the way they all planned with Dean's bomb going off... If it were up to you.. How would you write 12x01?"
> 
> With darkness and fear and the desperate desire to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less a fic and more an idea, so it's not written in my normal format, but I'm saving it here to be written and expanded on in my list of queued fics.

Obviously, something goes wrong when exploding a mostly theoretical, untested soul bomb, which has never been done before, when the lines between Heaven, Earth, Hell, and Purgatory are all messed up to hell and back already.

Dean doesn’t die, but very obviously, something is wrong. For one, Amara is still there with him, but she’s… different. Almost incorporeal, and keeps flickering in and out, scared, but not angry. For two, well, they aren’t where they were. Billie appears, clearly shouting, trying to get some message across, but it’s like she’s underwater and neither Amara or Dean can understand what she’s trying to say. They can read one thing she keeps repeating.

“RUN!”

They run. Billie flickering in and out of view ahead of them, constantly screaming for them to keep running, and Dean and Amara don’t know what it is, but they can FEEL something chasing after them, like a tidal wave ready crash down and swallow them whole. They can see… people, glimpses of people they’ve met, seen, heard of, defeated, but they’re wrong somehow, different, like they're from a different time, all of them screaming to keep running, many of them flying straight at Dean and crashing through him like a wave breaking against his body. Cain. Abaddon. Tessa. Anna.

And Dean FEELS different. Like when he had the MoC and felt rage and bloodlust and murder in his veins, but this… this is different. It’s electricity and light and sound and flying through the cosmos unbounded. Amara remains corporeal and solid when he grabs her hand to drag her along. Because despite the power she holds, power doesn’t equal a threat. Chuck has power. Sam had powers. Cas has powers. So he pulls her with him because he still has faith there’s good in her, that there always has been beneath the fury at her brother’s betrayal.

They follow Billie through the pitch black wood with shadows and darkness and teeth closing in, they run and stumble and pick each other up when they fall, only to come to a skittering stop at a cliff’s edge, rocks and leaves and dirt toppling over under Dean’s boots and Amara’s bleeding feet. Billie is standing in midair over the chasm, a glowing portal behind her, still silently screaming that they run.

Dean yells back, motions to the cliff and the endless fall between them and the portal to somewhere where the tidal wave isn’t still gaining strength to crash down. Amara is shaking his arm, looking back with horrified eyes growing wide, before whirling on Dean, his face between her hands.

“ _Fly_ ,” she whispers, before pressing her mouth to his in a bruising kiss and falling unconscious in his arms, power shooting out in a circle around them, causing Dean to throw his head back on a howl, light pouring from every pore as fabric rips and tears and mass occupies space that had just been empty.

He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t have time to question, seeing now the shape bigger than the whole word ready to overtake them. He scoops God’s sister into his arms, and uses his legs to throw them over the cliff’s edge and into open air just as the wave starts to come down, the force and wind of it, catching beneath them and thrusting them full-force in a chaotic spiral through the portal while he clings tightly to Amara’s limp form.

He hits the ground, rolls to shouts and cries of alarm to land on his feet in a crouch while his family and their allies stand back, weapons at the ready. Feathers rustle as Dean opens up the protective covering of his massive wings, standing with Amara cradled in his arms, both of them covered in blood and scratches and bruises- though Dean’s already appear to be slowly healing.

Billie backs away warily. Rowena has a hand clasped to her mouth, and Crowley, of all people, _crosses himself_ at the sight of them. Cas can only stare, shaking his head, unable to comprehend what he is seeing. Only Chuck stumbles forward, worry and concern all over his face as he takes his sister from Dean’s arms and kneels to cradle her on the floor.

“What happened to you?” Sam finally manages.

The wings move and Sam flinches. “Amara. We couldn’t get to the portal otherwise.”

“She made you an angel,” Rowena whispers.

“No,” Chuck says, gently brushing his sister’s hair away from her face. “She made him something new.”

–

Hope you liked it??


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